


They Want You to Sink (But You Stood Up and Swam)

by Its_Bee_Winchester



Series: They Want You to Sink [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Human AU, Is this a high school au? Kind of, M/M, Nonbinary Frisk, Trans Mettaton is the only Mettaton, nonbinary blooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 22,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5127776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Its_Bee_Winchester/pseuds/Its_Bee_Winchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mettaton has finally had enough of his transphobic parents and runs away from home. It's almost the end of senior year, but he just can't take it anymore. But with his cousin living in a tiny studio apartment and the only person from school who knows he's trans already letting someone else use their couch, where will he go?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well alright yall I promised myself I wouldn't do this but guess what I did anyways.

Mettaton was having a bad day.

 

He’d spilled coffee on his favorite shirt at breakfast, turned up late to school, and now some asshole freshman had pinched his butt. He was a senior, for christ’s sake! The nerve of these kids! He’d finally escaped his last class of the day and he just wanted to get home, but the hordes of other students with the same intention were making it so difficult. He couldn’t even give the butt-pincher a piece of his mind because he didn't know who did it. Even if he did have a great butt. Everything sucked.

 

“Hey, Metta! Mettaton! I’m so glad I ran into you!”

 

Mettaton quickened his pace, but the speaker caught up and tugged his sleeve. He glared down at her, not slowing down. “What, Becky?”

 

Becky Ross - junior, bassist in the school band, literal gnat in human form - flashed Mettaton a huge smile. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to sing for us again this semester.”

 

“I sang with you guys once, and you couldn’t even keep on beat. Why would I do it again?” Mettaton rolled his eyes and pictured crushing Becky under the heel of one of his platformed boots.

 

“Well, we’ve gotten a lot better, you know,” Becky refused to be crushed. “And Charlie’s a really good singer, but we really need a female lead, and you’re...”

 

Mettaton felt his throat clench at the word “female.” He took a deep breath and scanned the crowd for a familiar face. Ah! Frisk! Tiny, shy little freshman Frisk, who he’d promised Professor Alphys he’d take care of, a beacon of hope and salvation!

 

“Becky,” Mettaton said, stopping her mid babble and forcing a tight smile. “Look, darling, I'll be perfectly honest with you, your band sucks. I’d rather sing in the dumpster outside of the school, honestly. Frisk! Oh, Frisk, my sweet little angel, wait for me, please!”

 

By some miracle, Frisk heard him, and waved cheerfully. Mettaton picked up the pace and caught up to them, wrapping the freshman in a strawberry-scented embrace and lifting them off the floor. “We have to get out of here, Frisky, I’m going insane!”

 

Frisk cocked their head to the side and looked at Mettaton inquisitively before holding up one finger and digging their phone out of their pocket. They typed in silence for a moment before showing it to Mettaton. A notepad app was open.  _What happened?_

 

 

Mettaton sighed. “Just… not a good day, you know. And Blooky’s sick, so I’m walking home by myself today.”

 

Frisk nodded sympathetically and patted Mettaton’s arm.

 

“My Cup of Tea?” Mettaton asked, referring to his favorite neighborhood cafe. “I’m buying.”

 

Frisk held up their phone again with an apologetic look. _Sorry, Mom wants me home early today._

 

“I see,” Mettaton tried not to sound too disappointed. “That’s alright, darling. Tell your mother hello from me.”

 

He gave the freshman one last perfumy hug before turning on his heel and hurrying away, eyes stinging. It wasn’t Frisk’s fault, of course, but he didn’t want them to worry. He was just having a bad day. When he got home he would take a nice hot shower, change out of this stupid skirt and into some nice, comfortable boxers, and maybe skype his cousin. Blooky always cheered him up. They listened when he talked and they didn’t call him a girl, which was refreshing. Yeah. That sounded nice. Mettaton took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the nice things, like talking to his cousin and taking a bath instead of the way his lungs felt like they were being crushed every time someone called him “she.”

 

oOo

 

“Frisk? Frisk. Paging doctor Frisk, please text me. It’s important enough that I had to call a mute person about it. Okay, I’m gonna hang up now. Text me.” Mettaton hit the hang up button with a little too much finality, hoping Frisk was the kind of person who listened to their messages.

 

He was crouched outside of his bedroom window, two backpacks full of clothes, shoes, his laptop, and a few other things he felt sentimentally attached to balanced on his lap, trying not to think about what the shadows in the corners might be. Somewhere, a dog barked. Mettaton shivered and wished he’d put on a sweater instead of stuffing them all in his bags.

 

Frisk texted almost immediately. _What’s up?_

 

_Mom caught me wearing Blooky’s clothes and locked me in my room again_ , Mettaton replied. Then,   _I'm runing away. Can I come over? I’m in a bush_.

 

_What?_

_I’m in a bush._

_In the back yard._

_I climbed out the window._

Mettaton felt half his life pass him by in the two minutes it took Frisk to reply.

 

_Mom says ok, we’ll save some dinner for you._

 

Thank god. Mettaton heaved a sigh of relief.

 

_But my classmate monty is here for the month cuz his parents are out of town_

_Yknow. the kid with no arms. he sits with us at lunch sometimes._

_Do u mind sleeping on my floor?_

 

Oh. Mettaton heaved a sigh that was not relief.

 

_No it’s fine._

_See ya in ten._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Mettaton! Come in, child, please!” Toriel’s warm voice was like music to Mettaton’s ears. He’d dug out the biggest, ugliest sweatshirt of Blooky’s from his bags and taken a bus from his house to Frisk’s, avoiding the eyes of the few other people on it.

 

“Thank you, Toriel,” Mettaton accepted the round, smiling woman’s hug as he stepped inside. “I trust Frisk explained my, uh… situation?”

 

“Oh, yes, they told me all about it. This is a big step for you, no?” And then, “Frisk? Mettaton’s here!”

 

“I guess it is, I - I don’t know, I wasn’t really thinking ahead. I just needed to get out of there…” Mettaton trailed off, hugging his arms around his waist.

 

“That’s alright, child. You know our doors are always open,” Toriel patted his shoulder sympathetically. “I think Frisk and Monty are doing homework in the living room. Why don’t you go make yourself comfortable? I’ll reheat the leftovers from dinner. You like butternut squash soup, don’t you?”

 

Mettaton nodded mutely as Toriel gave him a gentle shove toward the living room.

 

Sure enough, Frisk and their friend were sitting bent over the coffee table, sharing a textbook. Mettaton collapsed into an armchair, dropping his bags and kicking off his shoes.

 

Frisk looked up and waved before turning away, their hands flashing a quick series of signs to the kid next to her. He looked starstruck.

 

“Woah,” the kid - Monty, wasn’t it? - said when they’d finished. “Dude, you’re Mettaton?”

 

Mettaton nodded. He knew he was popular, but he didn’t think he was  _that_  popular. “The one and o -”

 

“You’re friends with Professor Alphys, right? That means you know her wife, Undyne, doesn’t it? She is so cool. I want to be a policeman when I grow up because of her. She’s like a superhero!”

 

Oh.

 

“Yes, I know her. She’s a huge weeb,” Mettaton said dismissively.

 

“Yeah, anime is the best, right?” Monty still looked thrilled. Frisk drew their finger across their throat.

 

“Uhh, sure? I don’t really -”

 

“Mettaton, dear, I’ve got a big bowl of soup with your name on it,” Toriel swept in, saving Mettaton from the anime. Her boyfriend Sans was right behind her.

 

“Are you sure he's going to be able to eat all that?” He asked, arching one eyebrow as Toriel handed Mettaton the bowl. “It’s a Metta- _ton_ of soup.”

 

“Sans, stop it,” Toriel giggled and batted at him playfully, but he caught her hand and kissed it, grinning. Frisk made a face.

 

Mettaton rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. He wished his own family got along like this. He took a bite of the soup and found himself immediately going for another. It wasn’t too hot, or too cold, and it was perfectly creamy. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was. “This is great, Toriel. Thanks for saving some for me.”

 

“It’s no problem, child,” Toriel assured him. “I always make a lot and freeze it anyways, since  _somebody -_ ” a fake glare at Sans "- just buys takeout all the time when I’m not around.”

 

Frisk pretended to gag. They ripped a page out of their notebook, scribbled something, and held it up to Mettaton.  _Aren’t my parents gross?_

 

“Frisk, I can see that,” Toriel admonished. She snatched the paper and pushed herself off the couch. “I’m going to go make some popcorn. Anybody else want any?”

 

There was a general muttering of “no” and Toriel left the room. Frisk and Monty packed up their homework, and Sans turned on the TV. An old, black and white movie was playing. Full of hot soup and with the peaceful buzzing of long-dead voices in his ears, Mettaton began to feel drowsy.

 

At some point, Toriel came back with a bowl of popcorn and marmite - a combination no one but she and Sans enjoyed. Frisk drew a picture of a goat, and pointed at her mother. Monty giggled. Mettaton tucked his knees up into his sweatshirt. He drifted in and out of a dreamland where he was a big robotic superstar and no one questioned his gender, and, oddly, Audrey Hepburn was trying to hit him with a broom.

 

* * *

 

  
“Metta? Mettaton, honey, wake up,” a gentle voice drifted into his dream.

 

Mettaton mumbled something about legs and opened his eyes. He was still curled up in a ball in Frisk’s living room, but now the world was almost completely dark. He fought one of his arms out of his little sweatshirt coccoon and rubbed his eyes.

 

“It’s already 7:30, Frisk and Monty are having breakfast. Come on, dear, you don’t want to be late,” the voice continued. Mettaton blinked and Toriel’s kind face came into focus.

 

“Oh.” Everything was starting to come together. “Oh, god, I’m sorry, Toriel, I have to get ready for school, don’t I?”

 

“That would be a good idea, yes,” Toriel agreed. She turned on a small lamp, and Mettaton squinted at her. “I’ll be driving you three to school, but I suspect you’d like to get dressed and have breakfast first.”

 

“Oh!” Mettaton put a hand to his hair and felt his heart sink.  _Hood hair._ “Is there time for me to take a shower? I can’t go to school looking like this.”

 

“As long as you’re quick. Would you like tea?”

 

“Tea would be great. Thanks again, Toriel,” Mettaton said sincerely. He uncurled himself from the sweatshirt, stretching his legs out in front of him before standing up and stumbling down the hall to the bathroom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact, marmite on popcorn is one of my favorite combinations. Everyone else I know hates it.


	3. Chapter 3

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Toriel said when Mettaton shuffled into the kitchen. Frisk smiled at him from the table through a mouthful of toast, but they didn't stop eating.

 

“Mm.” Mettaton’s wet hair dripped on his shoulder and he made a face. Why couldn’t he have remembered his hair dryer? He rubbed the cold spot on his shoulder with his sleeve. He still wasn’t completely awake.

 

“There’s hot water in the kettle for tea, and bread for toast. We have eggs, too, but you’ll have to cook them yourself,” Toriel continued, pouring orange juice into cups. She handed one to Mettaton and another to Sans, who was mostly hidden behind a newspaper. Mettaton could see he was reading the comics section, though. Somehow, Mettaton managed to get a piece of toast with jam. He ate it drowsily, staring at nothing and half listening Monty’s chatter. He was talking about math class, and Frisk was nodding and signing back, their hands moving too fast for Mettaton to catch more than a few random words. Mettaton was glad he’d already finished all of his required math classes.

 

“You know, T, I can take the kids today,” Sans said suddenly, crumpling his newspaper onto the table with an air of finality.

 

“Sans, you don’t have to do that,” Toriel said, coming over to put her hands on his shoulders.

 

“I don’t mind - heck, I’ll drive you, too. Today’s my day off, anyways. May as well spend a little of it with my beautiful Tori, right?”

 

“Alright, if you insist.” Toriel was blushing. “Speaking of which, children, it’s just about time to go. Everyone get your things.” Mettaton, Frisk, and Monty put their dishes in the sink and filed out of the kitchen.

 

“If you’re not in the car in ten then I’m leaving without you,” Sans called after them.

 

The car ride was quiet. Frisk had their nose in a book, Toriel and Sans talked in hushed voices in the front seats, and Mettaton and Monty stared out the windows. Mettaton wasn’t sure what Monty was doing, but he was trying not to get sick. He focused on the passing houses and the trees that were just beginning to get leaves again and tried not to think about the toast he’d just eaten.

 

Finally, they pulled up outside of the school, and everyone piled out. Mettaton was just about to follow the other two into the school when he heard Sans call his name from the car window. He turned around.

 

“Hey, kiddo, I got to thinking last night, about where you’re gonna go. You know our doors are always open, but the house is pretty full, and sleeping in chairs isn’t the most comfortable. You were already asleep when I thought of this, but - well, I had an idea.”

 

“Okay,” Mettaton said slowly, unsure where Sans was going with this.

 

“You know I lived with my brother before I moved in with Toriel here, yeah? Well, he’s looking for a roommate now. I pay the rent, ‘cause my bro’s still figuring stuff out, and I’d be more than happy to let you stay there for a few months, on the house.” He laughed to himself. “Well, in the house, actually. But you see what I mean, right? My brother could certainly use the company, it’s a big house, and he gets real lonely now. He’s a really sweet kid, but he has a hard time getting out there and meeting new people. You’d be doin’ him a favor, y’know?”

 

“Really? You’d do that for me?”

 

Sans shrugged. “Sure, why not? You seem like a good kid. Tell you what - I’ll take you kids over there after school. Paps - Papyrus, that’s my brother - isn’t too busy these days, I’m sure he’d be glad for the company. We’ll see how you two get along, and go from there. Sound good?”

 

“Y-yeah, that sounds great!” Mettaton’s head was spinning. They were being so nice to him!

 

“Alright then, kiddo. Get inside before you’re late.” Sans made a shooing motion with his hands “Oh, and tell Frisk and their friend that I’m picking you guys up, okay?”

 

“Will do. Thanks again, Sans,” Mettaton called over his shoulder has he hurried toward the school. He felt himself smiling. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

 

* * *

 

"Oh, Mettaton, I didn’t expect to see you here today,” Mrs. Hughes-Whittacker, Mettaton’s first teacher of the day, said when he came in.

 

“Yeah? Well, I’m here,” Mettaton replied. Her tone of voice made him suspicious.

 

“Your parents called about your little…” She paused, her face curling a bit. “Transgender outburst. We weren’t sure if you’d be showing up or not.” Mettaton gulped. The other students had gone oddly quiet.

 

“Y-yeah?” He said, trying to keep his voice cool.

 

“Mettaton’s trans?” Someone at the back of the classroom finally said, breaking the spell.

 

“But she’s so hot, I don’t get it.”

“Wait, does that mean you have a dick or something?”

“So is she - it? - Mettaton a boy or a girl?”

 

“I -” The words swirled around Mettaton’s mind and he felt himself getting dizzy. “I have to go.”

He turned on his heel and forced himself to walk out of the classroom with the last of his dignity. As he walked down the hall, he could hear Mrs. Hughes-Whittacker trying to get everyone to quiet down. It occurred to him that he’d be punished for being out of class, vaguely, but he didn’t care. He made it to Professor Alphys’ office and knocked on the door twice before leaning against the wall and sliding to the ground.

 

“Yes - Mettaton? Shouldn’t you be in class?” The short woman gazed down at him, perplexed. Her dyed blonde hair was pulled up into a loose bun and Mettaton noticed she was wearing slippers.

 

He nodded.

 

“The secretary said something about your parents c-calling - oh - oh, my, did they out you?” Alphys’ face changed from confused to concerned as she put the pieces together. “Oh, Metta, I’m so sorry. Come right in, if anyone asks where you are I’ll cover for you.”

 

Mettaton picked himself up and dragged himself into his friend’s office. He pushed a skeleton out of the chair meant for students asking for help and flopped down into it.

 

“Do you need anything? Tea? Water? I th- I could probably get you a donut from the teacher’s lounge, um -”

 

“That’s okay, Professor Alphys,” Mettaton cut her off. “I just need to hide for a bit.”

 

“Alright…” Alphys seemed unsatisfied. “W-well, uh, if you need anything, I’ll be grading these lab reports. Man, it’s like these kids don’t listen to a thing I say.” She shook her head at the pile of papers. Mettaton gave her a sympathetic look before pulling out his phone. He stared at it, restlessly jumping between apps, then at the biology posters and diagrams on the walls, the clock, and finally, Alphys herself.

 

“Mrs. Hughes-Whittacker called it a ‘transgender outburst’,” he finally said, his tone bitter.

 

“Called what a transgender outburst?” Alphys put down her pen and looked up.

 

“I ran away from home last night. I guess my parents called the school,” Mettaton explained.

 

“Oh, goodness, do you - do you need a place to stay?”

 

“No, I stayed with Frisk last night, and her stepdad Sans said something about his brother - Papyrus, I think his name was - having an extra room. I’ll be going there tonight I think."

 

“Papyrus, why does that name sound familiar - oh!” Alphys smiled brightly. “I know him. I-I mean, Undyne knows him. He approached her about how to become a police officer and she sort of took him under her wing. He’s a real nice kid, very enthusiastic.”

 

“He’s a cop in training?”

 

“Well - uh, no, he’s -” Alphys sighed. “He’s too sweet to be a cop! She’s teaching him how to cook instead, as a - a sort of diversion, I guess. He really wants to become an officer, but he’s just so… well, sweet. He’d never arrest anyone.”

 

“How old is he, exactly? Just out of curiosity,” Mettaton asked, leaning forward in his chair.

 

“Um,” Alphys thought for a moment. “Twenty? Twenty one? Somewhere around there, I think.”

 

“Okay,” Mettaton said. “Everyone keeps referring to him as a kid, so I had to ask.”

 

“Ah," Alphys went quiet, thinking. Then she looked up at him, her eyes soft. "Hey, um, Metta?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’m sorry about your parents. You - you know Undyne and I would always be happy to adopt you, right?”

 

Mettaton smiled. “Heh, yeah, thanks Alph. I don’t know if that’s possible since I’m already, you know, an adult, and all, but it’s the thought that counts.”


	4. Chapter 4

Somehow, Mettaton made it through the school day. He spent most of his time with his hood up and his hands deep inside his sleeves, avoiding the prying eyes and questions of his classmates. Unsurprisingly, word had gotten around pretty quickly. Mettaton felt like different variations of the same awful questions were being hurled at him from all directions. He spent his lunch break hiding out in the parking lot, ducking behind cars to avoid the few people outside. It was cold and damp, but at least it wasn’t full of hundreds of judging students like the cafeteria. He felt a little bad avoiding his friends, but he really just wanted to be alone. His phone kept buzzing with texts, so much so that he'd eventually turned it off, preferring silence to the stress of answering.

 

But it was over now. He’d ducked out as soon as his last class let out, leaving through a side door before the throngs of other students could find him. Mettaton leaned against the side of the building to wait for Frisk and pulled out his phone, feeling fidgety.

 

_13 new messages from: Shyren_

 

Mettaton sighed. Shyren was his best friend, he felt bad ignoring her like this. He just didn’t want to face anyone right now. Not even Shyren - quiet, pretty Shyren with her large, doelike eyes and the sort of shy smile that made suburban parents proud - Mettaton wished bitterly that he were more like her. Good, straight, restrained Shyren, whose grades were nearly perfect and who - well, she had her own problems, of course, but she always seemed in control. What he wouldn’t do for one of her hugs right now. He felt tears prick the backs of his eyelids. His vision blurred as he made himself text her.

 

_I’m sorry, Shy._

_I’m just not in a good place right now._

_I’ll call you later, k?_

 

Forcing himself not to wait for a reply, Mettaton shoved his phone back into his pocket. He peeked around the corner towards the front doors, looking for Frisk. Sure enough, they were already outside, chatting with a group of other freshman. Mettaton was tempted to call them over, but he stopped himself. Wouldn't want to draw too much attention to himself. Instead, he sent them a text. He couldn't help but notice that Shyren hadn’t replied yet. Maybe she wouldn’t.

 

Mettaton watched from his corner as Frisk pulled out their phone, then seemed to sign goodbye to the circle of freshmen. They hugged a few before hurrying over to Mettaton.

 

_Sans is picking us up?_ Frisk scribbled in their school notebook.

 

“Uh-huh. He’s taking me to meet his brother. Where’s Monty?” Mettaton replied.

 

_Papyrus is a nerd. He’s cool tho._

 

“Thanks, that’s very helpful. Frisk darling, do you know where Sans is? I want to get out of here ASAP.”

 

_The parking lot probably?_

 

“Okay,” Mettaton picked up his bag. “Well, let’s go then, maybe he’s here already.”

 

_I think I’m gonna stay. Monty has some tutoring thing, and some of us are gonna wait for him at the cafe up the street._

 

“Oh,” Mettaton said. “Well, I’ll tell Sans you’ll be home late then. Be safe, okay kiddo?”

 

Frisk nodded, and Mettaton ducked his head down and made for the parking lot, taking the long way around the back of the school. Fortunately, there was Sans’ beat up blue car, double parked near the parking lot entrance. Mettaton hurried over and sat down in the front seat, letting out a sigh of relief.

 

“Hey, rough day, squirt?” Sans said amicably. He had the seat tilted back and his hands under his head.

 

“You could say that. My parents seem to have told the school I had a ‘transgender outburst’.”

 

“Eugh, that’s unpleasant of them.” Sans made a face. “Where’s Frisk?”

 

“Monty has some sort of after school tutoring thing, they’re waiting here for him,” Mettaton explained. “They’ve got a couple of friends with them, I think they’re going to that comic store cafe up the street.”

 

“Hm. Well, I don’t know if Toriel will be happy, but I guess if Monty has to stay late anyways…”

 

“I’m sure they’ll be fine, Sans. Frisk is a dependable kid.”

 

“That they are.” Sans stayed silent for a moment before pushing his seat up and turning on the car. “Well, I guess they can text if anything bad happens. You ready to meet my bro?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

* * *

 

“I bet you two will get along great,” Sans was saying, his tone reassuring. He patted Mettaton’s shoulder. They’d pulled up in front of a cute little suburban house which, for some reason, still had a wilted Christmas wreath on the door, even though it was almost April. They were just getting out of the car when the door burst open.

 

“Sans, is that you? I thought it sounded like your car. Hello, brother!” The man - Papyrus, Mettaton assumed - half ran towards them, enveloping Sans in a bear hug, lifting the much shorter man off the ground.

 

“Heya, bro, good to see you too.”

 

“Oh man, Sans, it feels like it’s been forever, I -” Papyrus noticed Mettaton, standing awkwardly by the car. “Oh! You must be Mettaton. Sans told me he’d be bringing a potential roommate by. How do you do?”

 

Mettaton took the large, warm hand Papyrus offered him. He was tall and thin - a complete opposite to his brother - and his hair was a mess of loose, brown curls, cropped short on the sides. Mettaton couldn’t help but think he looked a bit like a very dorky greek god. A  _geek god_ , he giggled to himself, before realising he’d been staring.

 

“Uh, yeah, I’m Mettaton,” Mettaton said quickly, flashing a cute smile. “Pleased to meet you.”

 

Why don’t we all go inside, then?” Papyrus said, smiling back. His light brown eyes seemed to glow in the watery spring light. “I was just cooking some spaghetti for dinner - Undyne’s been teaching me to cook, and she wants me to practice between lessons. Do you like spaghetti?”

 

“Sure, spaghetti is fine,” Mettaton said, before realising that he wasn’t sure if he’d been invited to dinner. He followed the brothers inside, standing awkwardly by the door. Papyrus disappeared into the kitchen, still babbling about his spaghetti dinner, and Sans immediately flopped down on the sofa, turning the TV on.

 

“Well, make yourself comfy, kid,” Sans said, patting the couch. “Paps is very serious about his cooking. We won’t be seeing much of him until it’s done.”

 

“Okay,” Mettaton was a little overwhelmed. He didn’t consider himself shy in the slightest, but Papyrus and Sans were… well, he felt compelled to impress them. Especially Papyrus. Mettaton wasn’t sure what to think of him.

 

“Wait, why don’t I give you a tour of the place? This might be your new home, after all.” Sans pushed himself off the couch. He headed for the stairs, beckoning Mettaton to follow him. “This first door’s Paps’ room - I doubt you’ll see much of it, he tends to keep the door closed. And you see the signs. Next is the bathroom, pretty obvious stuff, annnnnd -” Sans paused for effect. “This last room is my - well, your room, now. Take a look.”

 

Sans opened the door with a silly little flourish, and Mettaton stepped in. It was a rather small room, made smaller by its dark red walls, and it had very little furniture. It felt like it was missing something, but Mettaton couldn't put his finger on what it was. Maybe he'd add a desk or something. He squinted in the dim light, trying to imagine the room as his.

 

“Obviously, I didn’t need all this stuff when I moved, so it’s all set up for you,” Sans continued. Uh, feel free to move things around, if you want. You can ask Papyrus for clean sheets.”

 

“Thank you so much for this, Sans. You really didn’t have to…” Mettaton said quietly. The room was nothing like his old one - packed as it was with memorabilia and trinkets - but it was nice. Something about this house put him at ease.

 

“Well, it’s good for my brother too, you know?” Sans replied. “I just - I don’t want him to be lonely. It’s always just been us two for a long time, I gotta look out for him. I felt kinda bad just leavin’ him all alone in this big old house, so I promised I'd find him someone else.”

 

“I understand,” Mettaton said, even though he wasn’t sure he did. Sans went quiet, seemingly lost in thought, before shaking his head and scratching the back of his neck.

 

“Well, I guess that ends the tour. Why don’t we go see how Paps is doing in the kitchen?”

 

Papyrus was, predictably, hunched over the stove. His hair looked damp, presumably from the steam of the pot he was looming over, and he was wearing an apron that said “Kiss the Skeleton”. It was themed in black and orange, with bones appliqued on, and must have been left over from Halloween, but it looked well worn.

 

“You’re here just in time, the pasta is almost finished!” Papyrus said, spinning to face them. He had pasta sauce on his chin. Mettaton giggled, covering his mouth with his hand. He'd practiced this giggle. Papyrus frowned. “What are you laughing at?”

 

“You uh,” Sans spoke up before Mettaton could. “You got somethin’ on your face there, bro.”

 

Papyrus quickly wiped the sauce away with the back of his hand, looking embarrassed. “A-anyways, my amazing pasta dish is nearly finished. I just have to drain the pasta and add the sauce.”

 

“Actually, I think Toriel is expecting me home for dinner,” Sans said in an apologetic tone. “But, I’m sure Mettaton wouldn’t mind staying. I’ll bring your things by later tonight, okay?”

 

“Uh, okay,” Mettaton was surprised Sans wasn’t staying. “Thanks again, Sans. I’ll see you later?”

 

“Yep, I’ll be back.” Sans nodded before turning to hug his brother. “See ya, bro. Take good care of this kid, huh?”

 

“Of course I will,” Papyrus said confidently. “I took care of you all those years, didn’t I?”

 

“You sure did, Paps.” Another nod goodbye in Mettaton’s direction and Sans was gone, hurrying out of the kitchen and then the front door. The house felt oddly quiet.

 

Papyrus wordlessly served Mettaton a dish of pasta, offering it to him with a shy smile, and the two of them left the kitchen.

 

“Sorry, we’re uh, all out of chairs,” Papyrus said from behind Mettaton. “I don’t actually know where they went, but I just eat on the couch now.”

  
Mettaton didn’t question it. Up close, he could see that Papyrus’ hair was actually many shades of brown, like shadows on a forest floor. He wondered if it was natural. They ate in silence, and while the taste of the pasta was certainly... unique - he managed to eat most of it. As the drone of the television kept out the silence of the house, Mettaton began to think that maybe the house wasn’t the only thing here that put him at ease.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hi, this is Shyren Lieder, if you’re hearing this, I don’t have my phone right now. Um, leave a message and I’ll try to get back to you. Bye!_

 

Mettaton clicked hang up and sighed heavily. He’d gone upstairs shortly after dinner, Papyrus tagging along to give him sheets and hover by the door for a few minutes, looking concerned, before apparently going to his own room for the night. Mettaton smiled to himself as he remembered Papyrus’ almost giddy “Night, roomie,” as he’d left the room.

 

Pulling himself back to the task at hand, he dialed Shyren’s phone number for the third time. It didn’t even ring before going to voicemail. She must have turned her phone off. Annoyed, Mettaton steeled himself to leave a message.

 

“Uh, hey, Wren,” Mettaton started, his voice quiet. God, he hadn’t called her Wren in years. It was a nickname he’d come up with in kindergarten, because of her lovely singing voice, but they’d grown out of using it. He wasn’t sure where it came from. “I just wanted to, I don’t know, apologise, I guess. For avoiding you today. I just… I didn’t want to cry at school, you know? A-anyways, um, call me back, okay? I wanna talk to you about -” He gulped, trying to keep his voice even. “Everything, really. Just call me back. Um, thanks. In advance, I guess. Bye.”

 

Mettaton’s throat tightened as he hung up the phone again, and at this point, he gave up trying to keep himself from crying. He stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling, letting the tears trickle down into his hair and sniffling miserably. Eventually, he rolled over and curled up into a ball, and stared out the window instead. It wasn’t even completely dark yet. Mettaton felt thoroughly sorry for himself. He missed his bed, the one that smelled faintly like his own perfume, not this unfamiliar laundry soap, and he missed his pink wallpapered room, and he missed feeling like he wasn’t alone. Of course, he knew that maybe eventually this room would feel like home, and he knew Papyrus was right down the hall, but - heck, he’d just met the guy hours ago. He barely knew anything about him.

 

Just then, his phone rang. Mettaton sat up and grabbed it from where he’d thrown it by the foot of the bed.

 

It wasn’t Shyren. Mettaton sniffed loudly and answered the phone.

 

“Blooky?” His voice sounded shaky even to himself.

 

“Hi, Metta,” his cousin’s soft, low voice replied. “I heard you ran away. Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Mettaton said his voice a little too high. “Yep. Very okay. I’m staying with Frisk’s stepdad’s brother. I’m… I’m doing great. Yeah.”

 

“Oh, gosh, Mett, you don’t sound okay…” Napstablook sounded concerned. “But I mean… I could be reading it wrong… I don’t know…”

 

Mettaton sniffled and laughed bitterly. “Nah, you’re right, cuz. I’m doing awfully. I ran away from home with barely two backpacks of stuff, my best friend won’t call me back, and I’m alone in a stranger’s house, crying my eyes out like an idiot.”

 

“Oh... my… I’m sorry, Mettaton. I could probably get some of your stuff if you want… I mean…”

 

“You don’t have to, Blooks.”

 

“Really? I don’t mind, honestly… I mean… If you don’t want your stuff, that’s fine, but you sounded like you wanted it…”

 

“I don’t want to make you deal with my stupid parents, Blooky,” Mettaton said. But he did really want his stuff. With curls like that, he doubted Papyrus had a hair dryer.

 

“I can handle it,” Blooky said eagerly. “Really. I want to help. Just tell me what you need, please.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Mettaton was surprised by the firmness of his cousin’s tone. “I just want the rest of my makeup from the bathroom, and my hairdryer. And, uh, this is going to sound silly, but -”

 

“I don’t think you’re silly. Tell me and I’ll get it,” Napstablook insisted.

 

“Well, do you think you could get my pillow? I just… this one doesn't feel right, you know?” He patted it and noticed the grey smudge from his mascara.

 

“Of course,” Blooky said smoothly. “Don’t worry about a thing, cuz. I’m here for you one hundred percent.

 

Mettaton kneaded the offending pillow with his free hand. “Thanks, Blooky. It means a lot.” He paused, letting the silence drag out between them. “Heh, I should probably just go to bed before I make any more of a mess of myself.”

 

“Alright… You know you can call me anytime, right? I’m here for you, Mett,” Blooky repeated, whether it was for himself or Mettaton.

 

“Yeah, I know.” Mettaton sniffled again. “Goodnight Blooky. Thank you.”

 

He hung up and crawled off the bed, curling his toes at how cold the wood floor had become. He quickly changed into some old, flannel pajamas before cautiously opening the door and peeking out. The hallway was dark and empty, with only a little light from the streetlight outside the window at the end of the hall. Mettaton padded out, standing for a moment in the empty hallway and looking out the window before going into the bathroom.

 

He stared at his own messy reflection, considering it. His hair was a matted rat's nest, and he looked like he’d been punched in both eyes, from all the smudged makeup. His lower lip still trembled a little, and seeing himself like this made him start to cry all over again. It wasn’t completely out of vanity, though that was part of it. He just looked so miserable. Talking to his cousin had been comforting, but it didn’t actually solve anything. He was still essentially alone in the world, alone in this strange house, alone alone alone. Choking down a sob, Mettaton sank to the floor, letting out a pathetic little whimper.

 

He sat and sobbed as quietly as he could on the bathroom floor, his back pressed against the cold porcelain of the bathtub, until he heard a quiet knock on the door.

 

“Mettaton?” Papyrus’ voice said quietly. “Are you alright?”

 

“I’m just fine, Papyrus. Sorry if I woke you.”

 

“I am a very light sleeper. And my brother used to have nightmares a lot. He never told me what they were about but not being alone seemed to help.” A pause. “Do you think you could let me in?”

 

“... No.”

 

“Oh,” Papyrus sounded a little disappointed. “Well, I’ll just be out here, then. As your new friend, I am obligated to try and help you however I can in your time of need.”

 

He had such a strange, formal way of speaking. Mettaton focused on keeping his voice steady. “You really don’t have to. I’ll try to be quiet so you can sleep.”

 

“I could not, knowing there is someone crying alone in my bathroom. Please let me in, Mettaton. Wouldn’t you like a hug? I give very good hugs, I’m told.”

 

“You don’t want to hug me, I’d get makeup all over you.”

 

“I’m sure I can handle it.”

 

Mettaton stood up and stared at himself again. He really was pathetic. He waited to hear Papyrus leave, shuffle back to his own room and leave Mettaton alone, but he didn’t.

 

Hesitantly, Mettaton put a hand on the doorknob. “Fine. Just don’t look at me, okay?”

 

“I’ll do my best.” When Mettaton opened the door, Papyrus’ eyes were squeezed shut. He stood in the middle of the hallway, clad only in boxer shorts and a raggedy t-shirt. Even in the weak light of the streetlamp Mettaton could see he had goosebumps on his arms. “I won’t open my eyes unless you tell me I can, but if you come closer I will give you one of my famous hugs.”

 

He opened his arms and Mettaton stepped toward him, welcoming the extra body heat. He was barely as tall as Papyrus’ shoulder. Mettaton reached out and wrapped his arms around his roommate, clasping his hands behind his back. He could feel Papyrus’ shirt getting damp against his cheek. “Sorry for all this,” he whispered, half hoping Papyrus wouldn’t hear.

 

“I promise you, it’s alright. I don’t sleep much, anyways.”

 

“That isn’t good for you.”

 

“Sleeping is boring. Besides, I want to be a policeman. I have to maintain constant vigilance!”

 

Mettaton half laughed through his tears. “But that’s ridiculous! Everyone has to sleep, even police.”

 

“Not me, I’m the great Papyrus.”

 

“Everyone has to sleep,” Mettaton repeated.

 

“Can I open my eyes?” Papyrus asked, earnestly.

 

“You haven’t already?” Mettaton was surprised.

 

“Of course not! A promise is a promise.”

 

Mettaton laughed for real this time. “Yeah, I guess you can.”

 

“Thank god, I was really getting tired of keeping my eyes closed.” Papyrus sounded relieved.

 

“You can’t see my face, anyway, so it’s okay I guess,” Mettaton admitted.

 

“I am sure you look fine.”

 

“Really. I look like I got punched in the face,” Mettaton exclaimed. “Twice!”

 

“Did you?”

 

“No. Just made the mistake of crying in makeup.”

 

“It can’t be that bad.”

 

“Oh, it is," Mettaton assured him. "I don't let anyone see me without makeup for a reason."

 

“I cannot believe you look that bad. But you sound like you’re feeling better. Are you?”

 

“I -” Mettaton thought for a moment. “Yeah, I am, actually. You distracted me, I guess.”

 

“I am an expert at comforting people,” Papyrus said proudly.

 

“Thank you. I think… I think I should be going to bed now. And I really need to wash all this stuff off my face.” Mettaton finally let go of Papyrus. He hadn’t realised how long they’d been standing there in the hallway.

 

“Alright. You know where I am if you need anything.” Papyrus headed back toward his room.

 

“Goodnight, Papyrus.”

 

“Oh, and one more thing,” Papyrus said, sticking his head out of his bedroom. “I still think you have a nice face.”

  
Despite everything, Mettaton fell asleep with a smile on his tearstained face that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this ended up way longer than I expected. Uhh, Lieder means Songs in german bc that's the only other language I know.


	6. Chapter 6

When Mettaton came downstairs the next morning, the house was silent and empty. He’d dumped both his bags on the floor, putting together a wrinkled but acceptable outfit and some simple makeup before creeping out of his room with a quiet, “Papyrus?”

There had been no answer. Now, as Mettaton flicked on the lights in the kitchen, he noticed a slip of paper on the counter. He crossed the small room and picked it up, leaning on the counter to read it.

_HELLO, METTATON!_ The note said. Apparently Papyrus was one of those people who wrote in all capitals. Figures. Mettaton kept reading. _I WOKE UP THIS MORNING AND REALISED THAT I DO NOT HAVE ANY BREAKFAST FOOD. IF YOU ARE READING THIS, YOU MUST HAVE WOKEN UP BEFORE I HAVE RETURNED FROM THE STORE. AS YOUR PROTECTOR (I AM NOT LEGALLY YOUR GUARDIAN SO PROTECTOR WILL HAVE TO DO) AND TRUSTED NEW FRIEND, I FEEL OBLIGATED TO MAKE SURE YOU EAT A HEALTHY BREAKFAST. I WILL BE BACK SOON. IF YOU ABSOLUTELY MUST GO TO SCHOOL BEFORE I RETURN, YOU CAN CATCH A PUBLIC BUS TWO BLOCKS TO THE RIGHT. I HAVE LEFT ENOUGH CHANGE FOR YOUR FARE IN THE BOWL ON THE TABLE._

_NYEH,_

_PAPYRUS_

What a strange note. Papyrus had signed his name with a little doodle of himself next to it, giving a thumbs up. Mettaton smiled and put down the note. Sure enough, when he opened the fridge, he saw nothing but a few containers of leftover spaghetti, all neatly pushed to one side. He wondered if Papyrus always kept his things on one side of the fridge, or if he’d moved them for his new roommate.

The cabinets were similarly empty, though he did find a few packets of instant oatmeal in one. Mettaton didn’t particularly like oatmeal, so he left it alone. Instead, he gathered his things and headed out, hoping Papyrus was right about the bus.

Fortunately, he was, and Mettaton got to school without a hitch. He paused outside, steeling himself, before hurrying in, head down. He had to accept that he’d fallen from the harsh grace that was high school popularity, but he didn’t have to accept all the painful questions. He hummed to himself, staring at the ground as he made a beeline for his classroom.

Unfortunately, he bumped into someone before he could make it there. Mettaton finally looked up, eyes coming to rest on the familiar of the student he’d walked into.

“Shyren! I’m sorry, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you, -”

“I could say the same for you. I called you thirteen times yesterday!” Shyren exclaimed.

“I just wanted to be alone. I texted you…” Mettaton trailed off.

“We wanted to help, Metta. I was really worried. We were all - Mettaton, have you heard the things they’re saying about you?” Shyren said, gripping Mettaton’s hands.

“Yeah, everyone and their brother wants to see what’s down my pants. I know. It’s fine, Shy, I can handle it,” Mettaton answered. “I just have to lay low for a while until graduation and then this’ll all be over.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Shyren said. She sounded disappointed. “I don’t know, Metta, it just sucks.”

“It does. But I can handle it, Shy. I’m still me.”

“Hey, on the bright side, it’ll be even easier to convince them to give us the couple’s discount on prom tickets, right?” Shyren offered a weak smile.

“I’ll be okay, Shyren,” Mettaton reassured his friend. “Blooky is going by my parents’ house to get the rest of my stuff, and Papyrus seems really nice. I don’t even have to pay rent until I’m ready and on my feet.”

“That’s reassuring.” Shyren finally let go of Mettaton’s hands. “Anyways, wanna walk to class together? I don’t mind coming with you.”

“Yeah,” Mettaton said. “Thanks, Shy.”

“Maybe they’ll leave you alone if we look like we’re having an important conversation.” Shyren offered, smiling. Mettaton smiled back, and it was only a little bit forced. Even though they didn’t have the same classes until after lunch, Mettaton felt himself relaxing. He could handle this. He could make it through the day, he could find the witty comebacks and the almost-sultry smiles he needed to get through his classmates’ questions. He could do it. He had to.

 

* * *

 

“You know, Alphys,” Mettaton was saying smoothly. “I really don’t think -”

“Mettaton!” a voice called from the parking lot. Both Mettaton and his friend jumped, startled out of their conversation. They were standing outside the school, where Professor Alphys had caught up to Mettaton on his way out, having a conversation about whether anime was or was not absolute garbage. Mettaton knew he was right. His former teacher had much better things to do with her time.

“I, Papyrus, the Greatest Roommate Ever, have come to take you home from school,” the voice said, revealing itself. Papyrus was getting out of a car - a much nicer one than Mettaton had expected, honestly - and grinning proudly. “Oh, hello, Alphys. I didn’t know you two knew each other. What a coincidence!”

“I used to teach Mettaton biology way back in sophomore year. He was horrible at it,” Alphys explained, nodding her head in greeting to Papyrus.

“Hey!”

“It’s true, you were in my office for help almost every day that year.”

“As you can see, we’ve stayed friends because of how kind and understanding she is,” Mettaton teased, resting his arm on his old teacher’s shoulder. If she got to make fun of how bad he was in her class, he definitely got to make fun of how short she was!

“I - I see,” Papyrus said. “Well, anyways, I thought I’d come pick you up, since I only gave you bus fare for one ride.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Mettaton admonished, a little embarrassed. “Pick me up, I mean. Or give me bus fare, for that matter.”

“I like taking care of people,” Papyrus said, by way of an explanation. “Besides, I felt bad that I did not have much food in the house. Bus fare was the least I could do!”

Alphys smiled in a way Mettaton didn’t quite understand. “Well, I have a meeting in half an hour, and it looks like you two are busy as it is. Come stop by my office again tomorrow, won’t you Mettaton? I’ve got a new manga I want to show you.”

“For the last time, I don’t want your silly cartoons!” Mettaton said, exasperated. He sighed dramatically. “But I’ll be there. The things I do for you.”

“You two have an odd relationship,” Papyrus said as Alphys hurried back inside.

“Eh, I like to tease her,” Mettaton admitted, following Papyrus toward his car. “I mean, anime really is garbage, but - Alphys is a sweet lady. She’s always there for me, and all the kids make fun of her for stuttering, and being fat. I just feel like she needs a friend. And what’s a friend other than someone who tells you when things you like are garbage?”

“I thought friends were supposed to be supportive?”

“No one is supposed to be supportive of anime,” Mettaton said firmly. “Otherwise, you’re right. Friends support each other. Is this your car?”

“It most certainly is,” Papyrus seemed glad of the change of subject. “Is she not a beauty?”

“It’s nicer than I expected,” Mettaton commented as he got in. The shiny red convertible had leather seats and was almost impossibly clean.

“She’s been around a few years, but I take good care of her. Even now, she runs like a dream!” Papyrus patted the dashboard affectionately. Mettaton wondered why people called cars ‘she’. With that, Papyrus peeled out of the parking lot. Mettaton tried to keep his hair out of his face, to no avail.

“Good lord, Papyrus! Do we really have to go this fast?”

“You bet we do,” Papyrus said, sounding giddy. “Don’t you want to get home quickly?”

Mettaton couldn’t argue with that. He gave up on keeping his hair in any semblance of neatness, instead focusing completely on what Papyrus was saying. By the time he got home, he was up to his ears in car lingo, most of which he didn’t understand, but he found himself smiling and nodding along anyways, just because Papyrus seemed so excited about it.

“Well, home sweet home,” Papyrus said comfortably as he opened the door. “Oh, I guess we should get you a key, don’t you think? Sans kept his when he moved out, and we didn’t have a spare… well, I suppose I can go out and get you one.”

“Thank you, Paps,” Mettaton said, without thinking. He felt his cheeks heat up. He’d only ever heard Sans call Papyrus that, but without realising it, he’d started using it in his head. Thankfully, Papyrus didn’t notice, or at least, he didn’t comment on it. He plopped down on the couch and dug out his homework, making a face at it. Stupid required reading. He kicked his shoes off and pulled his feet onto the couch. He propped the book on his knees and started reading, fighting off the urge to just take a nap. Papyrus clattered around in the kitchen.

“Mettaton, come and see all the groceries I bought!” Papyrus called, suddenly, startling Mettaton out of his drowsy reading. Mettaton couldn’t fathom what could possibly be so exciting about groceries, but at least it was better than this stupid book. When he came into the kitchen, Papyrus was looking proudly into the fridge.

“Okay, what did you get?” Mettaton asked patiently, stepping up next to him.

“I got an assortment of fruits and vegetables, milk, cereal, several boxes of cake mix - do you like to bake, Mettaton? - eggs, bacon, pasta, another kind of pasta - they had fresh, I couldn’t resist - various healthy snacks,” Papyrus rattled off.

“Did you memorise your grocery list?” Mettaton raised one eyebrow, leaning his hip against the counter.

“Of course,” Papyrus said it like it was obvious. “Paper could get lost, or stolen, or the words could rub off. I wouldn’t want to forget anything. I want to be a policeman, I have to be prepared for anything.”

“Ah. Figures,” Mettaton nodded. “Hey, Papyrus?”

“Yes?”

“Why _do_ you want to be a cop so bad, anyways?”

“I just - I want to protect people. When I was a little boy I got lost at a fair and a very scary woman in uniform came up to me, and I thought she was going to arrest me,” he laughed to himself. “But she just wanted to help me find my family. I was so relieved! She bought me an ice cream. As you may have guessed, that was Undyne - you know, your teacher Alphys’ wife. It took so long to find Sans and our parents that we ended up talking quite a bit, and I decided I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. As it turns out, she was only a teenager who’d been hired for the summer as a junior security guard, and when we finally did find my family, she offered to babysit me. Sans was about twelve at that time and boy, was he mad! He didn’t think he needed a babysitter. He would just sit and sulk while Undyne played with me.

“Anyways, long story short, we stayed in touch all these years, and now she’s a real cop, and she’s teaching me to cook. Someday I’ll be a real cop too,” Papyrus said finally, a dreamy expression on his face. “I just want to protect as many people as I can. I think it’s what I am here to do, you know?”

“I guess so,” Mettaton answered, quietly. “I don’t have a clue what I want to do. God, it’s almost the end of my senior year of high school, I’m legally an adult, and I don’t have the barest idea of what I’m going to do with the rest of my life! I haven’t even really thought about college.”

“Hey, that’s okay,” Papyrus said, reaching out and patting Mettaton’s arm. “Not everyone figures things out quickly. You’ll get there.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Mettaton hugged himself.

“I am sure you’ll sort everything out in time,” Papyrus said soothingly. “In the meantime, I am going to go get you a key before the shops close.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you,” Mettaton said. He followed Papyrus out of the kitchen, watching as the Papyrus grabbed his own keys off of the table and wriggled into a jacket.

“I’ll be back in a wink,” Papyrus said, and winked.

Mettaton grinned as Papyrus wrapped a red scarf around his neck and hurried out with a cheery wave. A moment later, Mettaton heard the car start and drive away. He sat back down on the couch and turned on the TV this time. It wasn’t like he was going to get quizzed on that book. Besides, he reasoned, he could always just look it up online. Heaving an overdramatic sigh, he flopped down on his side on the couch, curling up instinctively into a cozy little ball and focusing on the cooking show that was playing instead of the hum of anxiety at the back of his mind over his ignored homework.


	7. Chapter 7

“Papyrus?” Mettaton called tiredly as he opened the front door. Last night he’d woken up on the couch to the sound of Papyrus’ bedroom door clicking shut and a shiny silver key with a large M on it sitting in front of his face. He’d crept upstairs, knocked and called out a quiet “thank you” to Papyrus before going up to bed. But he hadn’t been able to go back to sleep for a long time, so he was running low on energy. He felt weird.

“Papyrus, I’m home!” He called out again.

No answer. Papyrus was, apparently, not home. Mettaton drifted to the kitchen to look for a snack. Before he could find one, though, he noticed a message on the fridge, written in little word magnets. His name was written on a post-it above them. Much like his handwriting, Papyrus’ fridge poetry set was typed in all capitals.

GREETINGS ROOMMATE !

AS YOU HAVE PROBABLY GUESSED I AM OUT

AS YOU MAY NOT HAVE GUESSED IT IS BECAUSE I HAVE A JOB

IF YOU NEED ME I AM AT THE LIBRARY READING TO CHILDREN

THEY LOVE MY SILLY VOICES

PLEASE DO NOT CALL

I WOULD NOT WANT TO BREAK THE LIBRARY RULES BY ANSWERING A CALL

THAT WOULD BE RUDE OF ME

I WILL BE BACK AROUND (another post-it) 4:30

PLEASE DO NOT ORDER PIZZA AGAIN LIKE YOU DID LAST NIGHT

I AM VERY CAPABLE OF MAKING US DINNER .

Mettaton read through the note before opening the fridge and peering inside. He found a large bottle of store brand soda, which he left alone, and a green apple, which he took. Biting into it, he reread the note. Papyrus’ job was really adorable.

“A cute job for a cute guy,” Mettaton mumbled to himself without thinking. Realising what he’d said, he felt his cheeks heat up, even though no one else was around. “Jeez, Metta,” he said aloud. “Where on earth did that come from?”

Putting it out of his mind, Mettaton wandered out of the kitchen and around the house, chewing thoughtfully and humming a song about bird flying south for the winter to himself. He ambled around the main room, brushing his fingers over things in a bored sort of way, before making his way up the stairs. Papyrus’ door was open a crack. How intriguing! Mettaton peeked in, not touching the door. From this angle, he could just see a small desk, with a very old computer perched upon it, and not much else. There was a rug on the floor, and - Mettaton couldn’t help himself. He pushed the door open fully and crept in, quiet as a mouse.

The room was an exact mirror of his own, but with a bigger bed, and more furniture. Off to one side was a table whose sole purpose appeared to be to house action figures. There were more little plastic superheroes and - robots? - than Mettaton had ever seen in one place outside of a comic store. He took a step further, toward the bookshelf across the room, when the door slammed downstairs. Like a frightened hare, he darted out, coming to stand awkwardly at the top of the stairs.

“Mettaton, I, your great and wonderful roommate and trusted friend, have returned!” Papyrus practically shouted, pulling off his scarf with a flourish. “Did you miss me?”

“Terribly,” Mettaton said dramatically, putting a hand to his brow, before realising that he had, actually. It was more fun when Papyrus was around. He was so silly, Mettaton couldn’t help but be happy when they were together.

“Well, fear not, I am back now.” Papyrus seemed satisfied with Mettaton’s answer.

Mettaton half walked, half slid down the stairs, taking another bite of his apple.

“The children were absolutely delightful as always,” Papyrus continued. “They listened very well. I don’t understand how anyone could dislike children. But anyways, how was your day?”

“Oh, the usual,” Mettaton said casually. “I yelled at some sophomores in the lunchroom for making fun of Alphys.”

He didn’t mention that they’d retaliated and almost made him cry.

“That was very noble of you.” Papyrus nodded. He sounded sincere, even though his choice of words seemed sarcastic.

“She’s a very kind woman. She doesn’t deserve to be made fun of just because she stutters and has a big butt.”

“That’s very true.”

Mettaton hummed his agreement, thinking back on the day. He’d finally come out of hiding and eaten lunch with his friends, for the first time since… well. _That_. He’d been surprised by how empty the table was, without all the kids who just hung around him because he was popular had disappeared, but it didn’t matter much. At least all his real friends were still there. Shyren, her boyfriend Aaron, Frisk and their little freshmen group, those were the people who really mattered. He was slowly learning that popularity wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

“Oh, it’s nearly time for Spice of Life!” Papyrus said, hurrying to the couch.

“Huh?” Mettaton said through the last bite of his apple. He moved to the kitchen to throw it away.

“My favorite cooking program,” Papyrus explained, bouncing a little on the couch. “The pun is despicable, but the content makes it forgivable. They take all kinds of spices and challenge contestants to use as many of them as they can.”

“Sounds like a good _thyme_ ,” Mettaton said, grinning wryly and sitting down next to his roommate.

Papyrus squinted at him. “I really hope that wasn’t a pun.”

“Oh come on, learn to spice things up a little,” Mettaton giggled. He jabbed Papyrus in the ribs playfully.

“For Pete’s sake!” Papyrus whacked him with a pillow.

“Don’t act so salty,” Mettaton said, rubbing his arm where the pillow hit. He was on a roll now. “You know these puns are _spiceless_.”

“They’re tasteless is what they are. You sound just like my brother!” Papyrus huffed, but he was smiling. He turned on the television and flipped through the channels until he found the one he was looking for, stretching his long legs out in front of him and folding his hands neatly in his lap.

 _How cute._ Mettaton mentally smacked himself. “So, when’s the show starting?”

As if on cue, the advertisements ended and a colorful song and dance theme began, with little animated spice jars dancing in rows and singing about getting contestants _out of the frying pan, and into the fire; if you thought that was difficult, well, you're in for something dire_

“Shhhh!” Papyrus clapped a hand over Mettaton’s mouth. Mettaton fought the childish urge to lick it. Instead, he did the mature thing -

And very gently bit the meat of Papyrus’ palm. Papyrus yanked his hand away and glared at him.

“You’re acting like a child,” he complained, rubbing the bitten hand on his jeans.

Mettaton was about to retort, but the theme ended and a man with a ridiculous pompadour jumped up from the bottom of the screen, wishing them a good evening and welcoming them to the penultimate episode of the season. There were just three contestants left, he practically sang, and each of them stood an equal chance of winning. What was going to happen next was guaranteed to thrill everyone both in the live audience and at home.

The episode went on. The contestants concocted thrilling (frankly, disgusting) dishes. Pompadour Guy narrated dramatically. Papyrus seemed to be - metaphorically - at the edge of his seat. Mettaton dozed.

By the time the middle commercial break came on, Two contestants had cried, one had thrown a rolling pin, and all three had made snarky comments about the others in their private interviews. Mettaton found himself intrigued. He wondered what it was like to be on TV. It must be fun, to get to act that dramatic all the time. There were a few people he’d like to throw a rolling pin at.

“Who do you think is gonna win?” Mettaton asked, over a woman gushing about some new toilet cleaner.

“ _Mmpffnnnr_ ,” Papyrus answered. As Mettaton turned to look at him, Papyrus slumped down, his head landing heavily on Mettaton’s shoulder.

“Isn’t this your favorite show?” Mettaton grumbled, but he may as well have been talking to a corpse. Papyrus’ hair tickled his chin. Irritated, he shook his head, trying to escape the mess of curls.

The curls refused to let him go that easily. Mettaton reached out his hand and tried to defer them that way. He was surprised at how soft Papyrus’ hair was. Impulsively, he ran his fingers through it again, marveling at how each curl seemed to be a slightly different shade of brown. They mingled together like light and shadows on a forest floor. Mettaton was fascinated.

“Sans, why are you petting -” Papyrus mumbled. Mettaton jerked his hand away, hiding it guiltily behind his back. “Oh. You’re not Sans. Hello there.”

“Y-your hair was tickling me,” Mettaton said quickly, blushing.

“Oh… ‘Msorry about that.” Papyrus blinked sleepily and yawned. “Reading kid’s books makes me very tired. ‘Minds me of when Sans used to read to me when I was little.”

“I… see,” Mettaton said slowly, staring at Papyrus. He had ridiculously long eyelashes.

“You hungry?” Papyrus asked, stretching his arms on either side of Mettaton’s head.

Ever the host. “Not particularly. You?” Mettaton asked, gently putting Papyrus’ arms back by his sides.

“Yeah.”

“I could make dinner.”

“I can do it.” Papyrus was up faster than Mettaton would have thought possible. The commercials had just ended.

“No no, it’s okay. You watch your show,” Mettaton insisted, pushing him back onto the couch. “I can cook.”

“Really?” Papyrus looked doubtful, but at least he looked awake.

“Yep,” Mettaton was already heading for the kitchen. “How do BLTs sound?”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Mettaton jumped up as soon as he heard the doorbell, slamming his laptop shut with a little more force than necessary. Earlier, he’d received a text from his cousin Napstablook, asking if today was okay to deliver some things from his parents’ house, and he’d been waiting impatiently ever since he’d gotten home from school. Normally, Blooky would be over at least once a week for dinner, but since Mettaton wasn’t at home anymore, they hadn’t gotten a chance to talk since that first night.

 

“Oh my goodness, Blooky!” Mettaton said when he opened the door, enveloping his cousin in a hug. “Come in, darling, I’ve missed you!”

 

“Hello, Metta. Your roommate isn’t here, uh, are they?” Napstablook said quietly, stepping into the house and looking around, hugging the paper bag they were carrying to their chest.

 

“Oh no, Paps is out, he reads to children at the library at this time most days,” Mettaton assured them. A dreamy smile crossed his face. “Isn’t that adorable?”

 

“Mettaton!” Blooky exclaimed, lifting a hand to their mouth. “That’s not a look I’ve seen on you in a while.”

 

“What? No no no, it’s not like that.” Mettaton felt himself blushing. “Stop that! He’s just - I mean - _it’s_ just a cute job. Stop looking at me like that, I mean it!”

 

“Okay, cousin, whatever you say.” Blooky grinned, their dark eyes soft and warm behind a curtain of hair.

 

“Oh, hush, you,” Mettaton huffed. “Anyways, what did you manage to convince them to give up?”

 

“Well, I got your hairdryer, for one, and -”

 

“Thank god! I’ve had to wear my hair pulled back for almost a week now. It’s been awful!” Mettaton exclaimed.

 

“And I took all of your makeup and stuff, and some shoes and t-shirts. Also, your pillow.” They pulled it out with an air of triumph. “As requested.”

 

“Thank you so much, Blooks,” Mettaton said sincerely, giving them another hug.

 

“It was really… the least I could do… honestly. I’m sorry I didn’t take more,” Napstablook hung their head.

 

“Oh, no, Blooks, this is perfect. I-I don’t need all that crap, really. This is a fresh start, yeah? This is just enough, I promise.” Napstablook’s shy, gentle smile returned, and Mettaton matched it with his own, more confident one, squeezing his cousin’s hand. “Come on, why don’t I show you my new room?”

 

* * *

 

“So yes, it went great,” Mettaton finished narrating his cousin’s visit to an enthusiastic Papyrus. “It was really nice to see Blooks again, and I finally have my hairdryer and all my makeup back, which is nice.”

 

“Well, I’m glad you have all your things now. I would hate to think you were lacking something important to you. I am sorry I didn’t get to meet them, though,” he added, sounding genuinely put out about it.

 

“Oh, gosh, I’m sure they meant it to happen that way,” Mettaton laughed fondly, thinking of anxious little Napsta’ meeting overconfident, loud Papyrus. “They’re very shy, they don’t like meeting new people unexpectedly.”

 

“But I am sure we would get along,” Papyrus said, confused. “I can get along with nearly anyone.”

 

“I’m sure you can, Paps, but Blooky is…” Well, Blooky was Blooky. But how could he say that and have it make sense? “They’re easily frightened. I’m sure they’ll come around eventually. Give them time to get used to the idea of you.”

 

“Alright, I suppose I understand,” Papyrus said slowly. “Well, I will await the day when they decide they are used to me with bated breath.”

 

“Okay, Mr. I-talk-like-I-just-stepped-out-of-the-fricking-renaissance,” Mettaton said, rolling his eyes. “Now it’s your turn. How were the little things?”

 

“Well, I don’t understand why you call them things - they’re people, you know,” Papyrus began, sounding a little hurt. “But, if you must know, it didn’t go too well. There’s this one little boy, Marcus, who insists on telling me that I’m reading things wrong every single time he shows up, even when I know I am not. I am an excellent reader! He just wants to sound cool. It’s upsetting.”

 

“Heh. Sorry you got bullied by a baby, Paps.” Mettaton patted Papyrus’ head in fake condolence.

 

“Marcus isn’t a baby. The babies are very polite. They don’t try to correct me, they just babble nonsense.”

 

“Okay. Sorry you got bullied by a  _toddler,_ " Mettaton corrected himself, rolling his eyes.

 

“Thank you,” Papyrus said seriously. “Your sympathy is appreciated.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Mettaton chuckled.

 

“H-hey, by the way, very random out of the blue request that I haven't been thinking about until just now, would you - well, I mean - do you think you could do that thing with my hair again? Maybe? I - it just felt nice, is all. And I combed my hair this morning, so it’s very soft.” Papyrus’ cheeks were flushed.

 

“Oh - um, I guess I could, yeah.” Mettaton was caught off guard. He pulled his feet up in front of him on the couch, patting his thigh by way of an invitation. Papyrus leaned against him obediently. Pointing to the closed laptop sitting next to him, he asked, “Mind if I do some homework at the same time?”

 

Papyrus shook his head no. Mettaton felt it, in the palm of his hand and against his thigh, more than he saw it. With a contented little sigh, he opened a few pages of notes and settled in to review them.

 

And so it became a sort of routine. Mettaton would read, or browse random sites on the internet, or do homework, one hand absentmindedly ruffling through Papyrus’ hair while Papyrus watched television, or napped, or simply talked, half to himself, about what funny things the children at the library said, making little noises of complaint whenever Mettaton’s hand slowed too much.

 

Once, Mettaton had french braided a crown around Papyrus’ head. The few curls he didn’t include in the middle stuck up like some kind of bizarre hat. Mettaton said Papyrus should always wear it like that. Papyrus said that Mettaton’s fashion sense was clearly lacking something.

 

Another time, while considering a particularly difficult question on a practice test, Mettaton absently kissed the top of Papyrus’ head, twice. The first was curiosity - Papyrus' hair was so soft, what would it feel like against his lips? - but the second, after he’d assured himself that his roommate was definitely asleep, was purely affection. Feeling giddy, he’d turned back to his work with a smile on his face, gripping his pencil a bit harder than before.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahaha look how fucking short this is hot dang


	9. Chapter 9

As usual, the cafeteria was a cacophony of noise. Mettaton, was sitting between Shyren and Aaron, quietly picking at his lunch while they babbled about prom. Across the table, Frisk was happily chatting with some of their freshman friends, their hands flashing signs excitedly between their friends’ words. Though they couldn’t actually go to prom, the freshman appeared to be as interested in it as the seniors were. No one seemed to care that it was still a few months away. Mettaton, despite his best efforts otherwise, didn’t either, and found himself worrying about it more often than he cared to admit.

 

“So, what are you gonna wear, Metta?” Shyren said suddenly, apparently losing interest in describing her own dress.

 

“Oh, uh, I don’t know, Shy,” Mettaton said. “I mean, I have several gowns I could wear, and if I didn’t run away I probably could have kissed ass to get another, but…”

 

“But you don’t want to wear a dress,” Shyren finished, nodding understandingly.

 

“Yeah.” Mettaton tried to mask the wave of disgust that threatened to overtake him at the thought of having to wear a dress.

 

“You could always borrow something of mine,” Aaron offered, his gentle voice contradicting his large, muscular appearance.

 

“No offense, but I’d swim in anything of yours,” Mettaton half laughed, imagining himself. “Your shoulders are like twice as wide as mine!”

 

“Touche.”

 

“Maybe it’ll be 80’s themed,” Shyren suggested. “I’ve heard big shoulder pads were in back then.”

 

“Thanks, you two, but I think I’m going to have to pass on that idea,” Mettaton said, shaking his head. “I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”

 

“Well, anyways, I’m gonna go outside and have a cigarette,” Shyren said, standing up. “Want one?”

 

Shyren always offered. Mettaton always said no.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Mettaton didn’t say no. Shyren raised her eyebrows slightly, but didn’t comment.

 

“Okay.” She bent to kiss Aaron, her long hair falling like a curtain around them. “Bye, babe. See you in English.”

 

Mettaton walked beside her in silence as she made her way across the rain soaked tarmac to her favorite corner of the parking lot. He’d never taken her offer before, but he knew where she liked to go. Back in freshman year, before any of them were popular, Mettaton, Shyren, Aaron, and Blooky, who was a senior, all used to sit out here.

 

“Okay, what’s up with you?” Shyren said, leaning against her favorite tree. “You never say yes.”

 

“Look, Shy, I’m just… I’m just going through a lot right now.” Mettaton didn’t meet her eyes.

 

“Okay,” Shyren dragged the word out. “I know you ran away from home, but - is there anything else you feel like sharing with me?”

 

“Not particularly, no.” Mettaton felt like a sulky toddler.

 

“Metta…”

 

“Just give me a cigarette, okay?”

 

“Alright, alright, Snappy,” Shyren exclaimed, digging in her pockets for the package. “You don’t have a lighter, do you?”

 

“Why would I?”

 

“Of course. C’mere.” She beckoned with one finger. Mettaton put the cigarette in his mouth and leaned forward obediently. “Breathe in.”

 

The hot smoke stung his throat, and he struggled not to cough. Shyren watched him, an odd look on her face, before lighting her own and looking away.

 

“Thanks,” Mettaton said quietly, watching the tendrils of smoke curl away from his mouth and nose. He slid to the ground, his back pressed against Shyren’s tree. He could only see her if he looked back over his shoulder.

 

“Hey, whatever you need, man.” Shyren paused. “Seriously, though, this isn’t like you. You’re always bugging me to stop doing this. ‘It’ll ruin your beautiful voice, Shy, cigarettes cause cancer, blah blah blah,’” She dropped her voice to mimic him.

 

“Maybe I’m trying to get cancer,” Mettaton mumbled sulkily. “I feel gross.”

 

“You feel gross like you’re doing this because you feel gross and you’re a big drama queen, or you feel gross ‘cause you’ve never smoked before and this shit’s awful for you?”

 

“First one. Also second one, probably.”

 

“Ah.” A pause. Shyren lifted her cigarette to her lips and took a drag. Her silhouette looked like an old fashioned movie star’s. Finally, “Dysphoria?”

 

“I guess.” _It's choking me._

 

“Anything else?”

 

_I might be crushing on my hot older roommate who definitely sees me as a little kid._ “Not really.” 

“Really?”

 

_I think I’m in -_ “I guess I’m worried about prom kinda.”

 

“If anyone says anything rude, Aaron and I will kill them.” Shyren smiled warmly before glancing at the little pink watch she’d been wearing since the fifth grade. “Oh, crap, it’s almost the end of lunch.”

 

“Is it? I might skip out of English. It’s not like Mr. Crannery will notice. He’s practically senile anyways.”

 

“Come on, Metta, that was mean.” Shyren threw what little was left of her cigarette over the chainlink fence. Mettaton was about to do the same, though his was still nearly whole, when she grabbed his wrist. “Gimme that. Shit’s expensive, you know. Anyways, don’t cut class. Come on, kiddo. Up and at ‘em.”

 

* * *

 

“Mettaton? Mettaton, earth to Mettaton, could you please wake up and help me with this?” Papyrus’ voice wormed its way into Mettaton’s head. “Why are you home so early? Why are you asleep on the couch?”

 

Mettaton frowned at him and fought the urge to answer with I missed you. “I felt gross so I decided to leave early.”

 

“Are you okay? Are you getting sick?” Papyrus dropped down to his knees in front of Mettaton and pressed a hand to his forehead. “You don’t appear to have a fever but -”

 

“I’m not sick, Paps. Just gross. Gendery gross.” Mettaton waved his hands vaguely.

 

“Oh,” Papyrus said, his voice suddenly quieter. “Well, I can’t say I understand, but I am here for you, if there is any way I can help… But for now, would you please come with me and carry some grocery bags in?”

 

“Okay,” Mettaton gave a weak smile and stood up, stretching his arms above his head. Papyrus sniffed, wrinkling his nose.

 

“Wait a second, Mettaton, why do you smell like smoke?”

 

“Huh?” Mettaton didn’t know why he felt so guilty. Papyrus was just his roommate, and it was Mettaton’s lungs, after all, not his. It didn’t matter what he thought. “Maybe I like to smoke.”

 

“Well, do you?” Papyrus asked, sounding genuinely interested. He headed for the door, beckoning Mettaton to follow.

 

“Not really,” Mettaton admitted, following Papyrus. “My best friend - Shyren, I’ve probably mentioned her before - does, and I thought maybe it would help with the gross feeling.”

 

“And?”

 

“It didn’t. It just hurt my throat.”

 

“Good. It’s not good for you.” Papyrus dropped a heavy bag into Mettaton’s arms. “Careful with that, I would not want those bananas to fall out.”

 

“That’s usually what I say.”

 

“Don’t let the bananas fall out?” Papyrus asked, confused.

 

“No, the other thing,” Mettaton explained, already heading inside. “Cigarettes are bad. I hate that Shyren smokes.”

 

Papyrus was apparently too focused on juggling the remaining three bags to answer. He dropped them to lock the front door, and then met Mettaton in the kitchen.

 

“So,” Mettaton said, crossing his arms over his chest. But he couldn’t really think of anything to say after that.

 

“So,” Papyrus repeated. “Do you want to talk about this ‘gendery grossness’?”

 

“Maybe.” Mettaton focused on putting things in the fridge.

 

“Well, do you know what started it?” Papyrus asked patiently.

 

“Prom, I guess,” Mettaton mumbled.

 

“Prom? But that’s months away, is it not?” Papyrus said.

 

“Yeah, but everyone’s already talking about it,” Mettaton said. “It’s a crucial part of the High School Experience.”

 

“But what part of it is… causing all this?”

 

“It’s stupid, really,” Mettaton half whispered, wrapping his arms around his waist and digging his fingers into the soft layer of fat there. “You’ll think it’s dumb. It doesn’t even make sense -”

 

“I am sure that is not true.” Papyrus cut him off.

 

“And I’m sure that it is. It’s dumb. I shouldn’t feeling like dying just because I have to wear a dress for a night! Heck, I like wearing dresses sometimes! I look good in them. And it’s only a few hours, and it’s not even happening for a few months. I have no reason to feel like this!”

 

“Firstly, as your roommate, trusted friend, and confidante, I feel obliged to say that your feelings are valid, and not dumb,” Papyrus held up a finger when Mettaton tried to interrupt. “Secondly, couldn’t you just wear a suit?”

 

“I could, if I had one, or had any way of getting one, but unfortunately, I do not, and I’m basically broke,” Mettaton dug his nails deeper into his skin. “Besides, everyone would laugh at me. I mean, they already do, I think, but - it would be worse.”

 

“Have you considered going to a thrift store?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“There is one over on Blue Lake Avenue that I visit frequently. They have a whole formalwear section. And lots of cool vintage stuff. Maybe you could look there for a suit?”

 

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” Mettaton said slowly, considering.

 

“Of course not. Thrifting is an excellent hobby. Some of my favorite outfits are from used clothing stores!”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“Oh, yes. I have no doubt we will find something to your liking.”

 

“Okay, I believe you,” Mettaton said, climbing onto the counter to load pasta into the upper cabinets. “Thanks, Paps, you’re a real pal.”

 

“There, I knew I could help.” Papyrus clapped his hands, delighted. “How about we go tomorrow, then? I shall pick you up from school, and we will find you the perfect suit. It will be an epic adventure of thrifting!”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Mettaton found himself saying. He smiled up at his taller roommate, feeling better than he had all day.

 

“So it is a date then!” At Mettaton’s odd look, Papyrus frowned slightly. “I mean - it’s a figure of speech. Look, we’ve sorted out your - admittedly puzzling - predicament, and we’ve gotten all the groceries put away, in record time. Another win for the dynamic roommate duo, the Amazing Mettaton and the Great Papyrus.”

  
He put an arm around Mettaton’s shoulders, giving him a quick squeeze as they left the kitchen. He smelled like laundry detergent and a little bit of some spice that Mettaton didn’t recognise, and Mettaton unwittingly leaned toward him, feeling at peace. His dysphoria wasn’t gone, of course, it was always sort of there, but - well, enjoying a friendly hug from a kind roommate couldn’t hurt, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaah? just a disclaimer here I am so aromantic I have no idea what I'm doing is this even how crushes work.


	10. Chapter 10

Mettaton had been looking forward to his little thrifting adventure with Papyrus all day. He paused at the door, looking into the dim store with an air of curiosity. Of course, he’d been to thrift stores before - what self respecting trans kid hadn’t - but this was with _Papyrus_. Sweet, pretty Papyrus with his beautiful sunspeckle hair and his strong, golden brown arms that looked like he could pick Mettaton up effortlessly, and - wait, no, he was excited because he was getting a suit for prom. Yeah, prom outfits are very important. That was it. He shook his head, irritated with himself. Papyrus was already heading inside, an excited look on his face, but he stopped when he noticed Mettaton was still outside.

 

“Come on, Mettaton, we have a suit to find!” Papyrus exclaimed, coming back outside. He grabbed Mettaton’s wrist and pulled him into the store, past racks of intriguingly colorful clothes and strange old shoes, until they were standing beneath a large hanging sign for Men’s Formalwear.

 

Mettaton craned his neck to look up at the ceiling. It seemed like an old warehouse, with its high, dark ceiling and fluorescent lights, but the owners of the store had fixed it up nicely. The walls had large, painted arches on them, and Mettaton was pretty sure he could hear the Velvet Underground playing from somewhere. It smelled like cloth and old dust. Mettaton decided he liked it here.

 

“So, I was thinking about this earlier, and I thought maybe something with tails would be good on you,” Papyrus said, already sifting through the racks of jackets.

 

 _You were thinking about me?_ Mettaton made his voice smooth and nonchalant. “Oh?”

 

“Yes - I mean, you’re not the tallest, so it could be difficult, but I think an old fashioned look would really suit your figure,” Papyrus explained, glancing back at him. His expression changed suddenly to one of worry. “Unless - oh, darn, you might not want to highlight your figure, or -”

 

“No, no, highlighting my figure is fine. I like my figure, I just don’t like -” he waved a hand vaguely at his chest. “But I have binders for that. Whatever you think is best, I’ve - I’ve actually never worn a suit before, I don’t know the first thing about them.”

 

“Well, consider this your lucky day then, for I, great fashionista that I am, declare that I will find you the suit of your dreams!” Papyrus dove back into his search. “Why don’t you look for a shirt you like? Maybe a colored one? Colors are fun.”

 

“Okay,” Mettaton turned to the rack of shirts and immediately noticed one that stood out. It was a jarring teal with a purple collar, embroidered with peacocks with little sequin tail feathers. He pulled it out and struggled to keep his tone serious. “How about this one?”

 

“Which - oh, Mettaton,” Papyrus said, clearly fighting to keep his tone neutral. “That is, uh, certainly a bold choice, I suppose.”

 

Mettaton burst out laughing, and Papyrus looked relieved. It was so funny to see sweet, polite Papyrus try to find nice things to say about the more… unique shirts on the rack, however, that Mettaton did it a few more times. He couldn’t help himself. Papyrus tried to find something good to say about them every time, and the look of relief on his face when Mettaton said he wasn't serious never got old. Eventually, however, he settled on a traditionally styled, light pink shirt with a cascade of ruffles down the front, and a plain white one, and went to hang around in Papyrus’ way while he searched for a suitable jacket.

 

Finally, Papyrus shoved an armful of jackets at Mettaton, and the two of them made for the changing rooms.

 

“If you would like, I can go find you some proper pants while you try these on,” Papyrus offered. “But I’ll need your size. Coats I can estimate, but -”

 

“Thirty by thirty-two usually fits me,” Mettaton offered. “That’s how it works, right?”

 

“I’ll be back in a jiffy, then.” And Papyrus was off, leaving Mettaton to be led by a hipstery clerk to a changing room.

 

“So, that your boyfriend?” the woman asked, raising an eyebrow. “He’s a real cutie, you hold onto him.”

 

“O-oh, no, we’re not - I mean - he’s not - I mean, we’re not together.” Mettaton laughed nervously. “I mean, I’m pansexual, it's not like I have anything against him, but - gosh, I don’t even know if he’s into guys.”

 

“Ah. That’s rough, man. I know the feeling,” she sighed dreamily. “There’s this guy who works the register, I -”

 

“Could you just let me try on my stuff?” Mettaton snapped, cheeks red. He didn’t want to be reminiscing about his crush on his roommate with a store clerk, especially when said crush could come back at any minute.

 

“Alright, alright,” she said, holding up her hands. “Third one on the left should be open.”

 

* * *

 

Eventually, Mettaton settled on the pink shirt, a dark wool tailcoat, and a pair of pants that hugged his hips in a way he found surprising but pleasing. He hugged the bag to his chest as they left the store, smiling blissfully. True to promise, the entire outfit had been surprisingly cheap, and Papyrus even said he had a bow tie and cummerbund back at home that Mettaton could borrow. It seemed almost too good to be true. While, of course, he knew there would still be students who found unpleasant things to say to him, he also knew that he had his friends to back him up. And there was always Papyrus. As he’d proved back on that first night, he was excellent at calming Mettaton down. If anything  _too_ awful happened, he could always rely on coming home to one of his roommate's warm, pleasant-smelling hugs, and maybe a reality TV marathon.

 

“Thank you for this, really,” Mettaton said as they got into the car. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t suggested this.”

 

“Think nothing of it, I would have done the same for any of my friends,” Papyrus assured him. He moved his hand as if to reach out and touch Mettaton, but quickly put it back.

 

“I can still be grateful,” Mettaton insisted.

 

“It was the least I could do,” Papyrus said. “Besides, I enjoy shopping. We should do it again sometime. Even though your insistence upon pulling out absurd things is… perplexing.”

 

“Oh come on, that’s like the best part of thrifting. Finding the weirdest stuff. Shyren and I used to make a game of it; whoever put together the strangest outfit in the fitting room won. The loser has to buy the weirdest part of their outfit.”

 

“Well, I suppose that does sound like fun,” Papyrus admitted. “Maybe we can try it next time?”

 

“Maybe Shyren can come too," Mettaton agreed eagerly. "It’s about time you two met, anyways. You and me can be a team, since you’ve never done it before.”

 

“I’d like to be a team with you.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Mettaton tried frantically to remind himself that they were talking about a platonic game about finding ugly clothes. He glanced down at his phone, blushing, and noticed they’d spent most of the afternoon at the thrift store. “But hey, why don’t we stop for dinner on the way home? It’s almost six, we may as well.”

  
“Well, I could cook, but - oh well, I don’t see why not,” 

 

"That's the spirit." Mettaton said enthusiastically. “How about Italian?”

 

"I couldn't have picked better myself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah gosh yall the next chapter's gonna be a big'un. prepare yourselves


	11. Chapter 11

Mettaton inspected himself in the bathroom mirror, tugging at his borrowed tie. His makeup was, of course, perfect, his hair was freshly washed and dried, and while it still flopped down over his face no matter how he tried to stop it, it looked good. He’d used his (admittedly, limited) knowledge of sewing to make sure the rather ridiculous coat Papyrus had picked out fit to perfection, and he’d found a pair of hand-me-down dress shoes from Napstablook that completed the outfit.

Days had slipped through his fingers quicker than he’d anticipated, and now here he was, on prom night, hastily making sure everything was exactly as it should be before Shyren and Aaron came to pick him up. Finally satisfied with his front appearance, Mettaton twisted around to look at the tails of his coat. The sound of a car pulling up outside made his heart jump a little.

“Mettaton? I think your friends are here!” Papyrus, who’d had his face pressed against the glass of the little window in the door for the past twenty minutes, called up the stairs.

“Okay!” Mettaton yelled back. He gave his tie one last adjustment before hurrying down, the heavy dress shoes making loud thuds on each stair. He gave a twirl when he got to the bottom. “Well? How do I look?”

“Oh, Mettaton, you look fantastic!” Papyrus exclaimed, giving him a big smile.

“Really?” Mettaton came to stand next to him by the door. “Are you sure? I don’t look stupid?”

“No, no, not at all, I promise. You look very handsome,” Papyrus assured him, taking his shoulders and holding him at arm's length.

“You aren’t just saying that?”

“I would not lie to you.” Papyrus pursed his lips, frowning slightly. Outside, Aaron honked. “Um…”

Mettaton was about to reply when Papyrus’ hands moved from his shoulders to cup his cheeks. Papyrus bent down quickly, pressing a clumsy kiss onto Mettaton’s lips. His hair tickled Mettaton’s forehead.

“I, uh. I - I’m sorry. H-have fun!” Papyrus pulled away before Mettaton could kiss him back, mumbling something about Mettaton’s friends waiting for him, while Mettaton stared at him in shock. He felt himself being shoved out the door, Papyrus’ hands at the small of his back.

Still stunned, Mettaton raised a hand to press his fingers against his bottom lip as he hurried out to meet his friends. He could still feel the way Papyrus had almost missed his mouth, the way his roommate’s lips had pressed against the right corner of his own more than the left. He got into the car in a daze, barely reacting when Shyren squealed and hugged him. She smelled like cigarette and perfume.

“Hey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost, what’s up with you?” Aaron looked at him in the rearview mirror, raising his eyebrows.

“Uh, nothing, I’m fine,” Mettaton smiled widely at him. “Absolutely fine. Great, actually. What’s up with _you_?”

“Okay, weirdo. Tell us where you got this crazy outfit,” Shyren poked him, and he turned to look at her.

“Papyrus,” he said dreamily. “He helped me pick it out.”

“I dig the ruffles,” Aaron said.

“Thanks, me too,” Mettaton tried not to start giggling.

“But look, we got booze!” Shyren cut in, pulling plastic water bottle of something out of her dress. “Want some?”

“No, I think I’m alright.”

“More for us, then. You look like you’ve already had enough, anyways.” Shyren laughed and took a swig of whatever was in the bottle, her face scrunching up at the taste.

Mettaton felt slightly dizzy for the entire evening. He kept finding himself touching his lips, or replaying the kiss in his head, or just smiling like an idiot. Finally, Shyren cornered him outside to interrogate him.

“Okay, what’s going on with you? You’re acting crazy weird. Are you on drugs?” He couldn’t tell if she was worried or just hoping he’d share.

“No, I’m totally sober, I swear,” Mettaton assured his friend, giving her his best smile.

“So what is it then?”

“I’m just happy is all. Is that surprising?”

“Yes, actually, since you’ve been stressed out about this for months.”

“Nope, I’m just happy this is finally happening.” Mettaton kept smiling. It wasn’t entirely a lie. He was happy that something was happening, it just wasn’t prom. He didn’t care much about that. “It’s that simple.”

“Oh my gosh,” Shyren’s eyes lit up. “Did something happen with your roommate? I know you’ve been drooling over him since day one. That’s it, isn't it? Oh, I am a genius!”

“Nooo?” Mettaton tried to lie.

“I can read you like a book, Mettaton. Oh my gosh. You have to tell me everything,” she gushed, jumping up and down.

“You’re drunk, Wren, leave me alone!” Mettaton was glad the darkness would hide his flushed cheeks.

“Come on, please?”

“Fine. He just maybe sort of kissed me a little,” Mettaton mumbled. “But how did you even know I liked him? I’ve been so subtle. I don’t even talk about him that much!”

“Oh please! Every other word out of your mouth is ‘Papyrus this, Papyrus that’. But anyways. Gimme the deets.”

“He kissed me, then shoved me out the door. Happy?”

“He’s clearly a master of romance,” Shyren said sarcastically. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Metta.”

“Would you stop? I’m trying to ignore it. I don’t even know if it means anything!”

“Alright, fine. But you have to come dance with us instead of standing around at the edge of the floor and drooling about your dorky roommate.”

“Fine. And he’s not dorky.” Mettaton realised what he’d said. “Well, he is, but - oh, never mind. Just shut up already!”

Shyren just laughed and pulled Mettaton inside.

* * *

When Mettaton got home, the house was dark and quiet. However, there was a small note taped to the banister at the bottom of the stairs. Tired from his night out, Mettaton unstuck it and squinted at it, puzzled.

_HELLO METTATON, I HAVE GONE TO BED. PLEASE DON’T COME IN OR ANYTHING._  
_-PAPS_

_Why would I..._ Mettaton thought, but he stuck the note back where he’d found it and went upstairs, still smiling deliriously. Prom had actually been fun, once he’d allowed Shyren to drag him onto the dance floor, but his feet hurt from standing for so long. When he passed Papyrus’ room, he noticed the light was still on. He thought he could hear the creak of the floorboards inside, like Papyrus was pacing around the room. He remembered the note, don’t come in or anything, but he crept to the door anyways and knocked softly. The creaking stopped, but otherwise he got no response.

“Hey,” Mettaton said quietly, pressing his cheek to the cool wood of the doorframe. “It’s okay that you… you know. Kissed me. I’m not upset. I just wanted you to know that.”

Mettaton didn’t wait for a response. He brushed his teeth, changed out of his silly prom clothes, and forced himself not to give it another thought. When he finally fell asleep, he dreamt of Papyrus’ arms wrapped around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well I hope you guys liked reading that as much as I liked writing it. The next chapter is pretty fun too, so uh. Stay prepared I guess.


	12. Chapter 12

When Mettaton got up the next morning, it quickly became clear that he was the first one up. This was unusual - Papyrus was an early riser, even on weekends, and Mettaton barely slogged out the door in time to get to school most days. It was nine o’clock on a Saturday - Papyrus should have been up for a few hours already. But the lights were off, the note was still stuck to the banister where Mettaton had left it last night, and Papyrus’ door was still shut tight. And while he was reluctant to pick up anything Mettaton left around the house preferring to confront him about it via sticky note, Papyrus was still a relatively tidy person. Mettaton had no doubt he would have disposed of the little green post-it, had he been up to see it.

 

Papyrus was still nowhere to be found when Mettaton came home from his routine hangout with frisk several hours later, so Mettaton slogged his way upstairs to call Blooky. He hadn't talked to them in a few days, and he knew they liked to know he was doing okay. In fact, it wasn't until the next morning that Mettaton saw any evidence of his roommate's presence. He'd taken it upon himself to throw away the note the day before, but today, there was a new one, stuck to the door frame in the kitchen. Mettaton abandoned any thoughts of breakfast to read it.

 

_PLEASE COME UPSTAIRS,_ the note said. _I WOULD LIKE TO APOLOGIZE FOR A FEW THINGS. MY DOOR IS UNLOCKED, COME IN WHENEVER YOU ARE READY. I WILL BE WAITING._

_P_

 

“Paps?” Mettaton called as he climbed back up the stairs. No answer. He peeked into his friend’s room to find him sitting perfectly straight on the end of the bed, holding a piece of paper.

 

“Hello, Mettaton,” Papyrus said quietly, not meeting his eyes.

 

Mettaton stepped in, closing the door behind him, though he wasn't sure why. “Hey, Papyrus, what’s all thi -”

 

“Please wait.” Papyrus held up a hand to silence Mettaton. “I have a speech prepared. Please don’t say anything until I’ve finished. Alright." He cleared his throat.

 

“Mettaton. You are a very attractive individual. As I am sure you have noticed, I am also a very attractive individual, but along with that, I am - well, quite a bit older than you. You are still in high school, and I am almost twenty-three. While I know it doesn’t seem like much time, there are a great many things I have experienced that you have, presumably, not. I would not want to take advantage of you accidentally. I would like to apologize for my emotions getting the best of me yesterday - it was rash, and frankly, rather insensitive to you. I am sorry, and I promise it won’t happen again.

 

“However, if you feel that living with me in this situation would be too difficult, I am more than happy to help you find another place to stay. I hope you can forgive me, and that we can carry on being friends.”

 

Silence hung thick and wretched in the air as Mettaton took in everything Papyrus had said. He’d managed to look up, his large brown eyes staring earnestly into Mettaton’s own, but his expression was hard.

 

Finally, Mettaton said slowly, “Papyrus, you do realise I’m eighteen, right?”

 

“Yes. I still feel guilty. I should have asked for your consent before I kissed you.”

 

"It's really okay, I -"

 

"No, I behaved thoughtlessly and I have to make amends." Papyrus cut Mettaton off. "It will not happen again, I promise."

 

“Paps, this doesn’t make sense,” Mettaton pleaded. “It’s okay that you didn’t ask me first, I’m not mad at you. And I promise, you won’t take advantage of me. I’m very capable of thinking for myself, and speaking for myself. I'm not a child, you know. I would have kissed you back if you hadn’t shoved me out the door!”

 

“You - but you looked so shocked!”

 

“Well, yeah, I was surprised, I didn't think you liked me like that,” Mettaton said impatiently.

 

“It still wasn't right,” Papyrus said firmly.

 

"Why not? We're two consenting adults, Paps, and I - I know I like you a lot," Mettaton pleaded. He felt rather pathetic, but he didn't care. He took a deep breath. "I-if it was just some weird thing for you, and you actually don't feel the same, I - I guess I get that. I'll drop it and we never have to talk about it again. But please, if you meant it, and you just think you're somehow in the wrong, don't do this. At least let's try."

 

"Are you sure?" Papyrus' eyebrows drew together.

 

“Yes, Paps. I’m sure. Please believe me when I say this - it's not just because I'm afraid to say no or something,” Mettaton assured him. “We can take things slow, I promise I won’t let you do anything I’m not comfortable with.”

 

Papyrus seemed to be thinking it over. “Alright,” he said finally. "It wasn't just some 'weird thing,' as you put it. I suppose we can try, as long as you're absolutely sure."

 

"I am, I promise I am,” Mettaton closed the gap between them, standing in front of Papyrus, their knees almost touching. Impulsively, he reached over and grabbed Papyrus’ hand, crumpling the paper he had been holding between their palms. "Now, do you think you could kiss me again? For real this time?"

 

Papyrus wordlessly nodded, and Mettaton sank down onto his lap. The hand Mettaton wasn't holding hovered for a moment before cupping the back of Mettaton’s head, and he pressed a kiss as chaste as the first one on Mettaton’s lips. But Mettaton wasn't letting him get away that easily this time around. He balled a fist in Papyrus' collar, kissing him several more times, slowly, before pulling away, smiling.

 

“That was… a lot better than the first time,” Papyrus admitted, matching his smile. Mettaton thought about how nice it was to finally be this close to him.

 

“Yeah?” Mettaton whispered, and kissed him once more for good measure, just letting the tip of his tongue brush the seam of Papyrus’ full lips. “Oh, and by the way, I’ve had sex before.”

 

“O-oh, um, alright?” Papyrus looked confused. “I’m not sure where this is coming from - um, I have not, but - alright. Good to know, I suppose.”

 

“It’s just - you said - things you’ve experienced that I haven’t? I assumed -”

 

“I just sort of meant life in general,” Papyrus said, shrugging. Mettaton could see he was blushing even through his dark complexion.

 

“Oh.” Mettaton felt awkward. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Well, that makes more sense now that I think about it.”

 

“I’m glad we got that cleared up, then." Papyrus coughed.

 

"Yep."

 

"Hey, w-would you like to sleep in here tonight?” Papyrus broke the awkward silence, his tone hopeful. "Nothing... you know. Just sleep in here. With me. In a nonsexual way."

 

“Didn’t we just say we were going to take things slow?” Mettaton laughed. Papyrus looked sheepish. “But, yeah, I think I would like that. It's been a while since I've shared a bed with anyone.”

 

“Alright, good - I mean - I’d like it too.” Papyrus squeezed Mettaton’s hand in his and smiled up at him.

  
Mettaton smiled back. “You’re a dork, you know that?”


	13. Chapter 13

There were a few things Mettaton already knew about this relationship, even less than twenty-four hours in. 

One; he was happier in it than he had been in a long time.

Two; Papyrus was as adorable when he was sleeping as when he was awake - he was one of those people who slept sprawled on his back, arms thrown out to the sides, as if he’d been thrown - and in the watery five am light, his high cheekbones and slightly open, perfectly shaped lips looked absolutely tantalising. 

And three; they were going to have to have a serious talk about blanket hogging. Cute as he was, Papyrus was also irritatingly good at taking all the blankets. Currently, his body was wrapped entirely in his queen sized comforter, like some kind of puffy, red toga, leaving Mettaton cold, awake, and more than a little annoyed. 

Tired and grumpy about his chilly state, Mettaton came up with a plan. Taking care not to wake his sleeping companion, he located the nearest edge of the blanket and delicately lifted it, revealing an expanse of Papyrus’ smooth, almost hairless tummy and a thin strip of his star print boxers. Mettaton looked at him for a moment before carefully, carefully scooting closer on his knees and pressing his cold palms flat on Papyrus’ warm skin. 

“Nnnnngh,” Papyrus half moaned, half growled his annoyance. His voice was considerably deeper than usual in this mostly-asleep state. His face scrunched up for a moment before he opened his eyes and squinted up at Mettaton, who was smiling down at him with a few too many teeth. “Why?”

“Sharing and compromise is a crucial part of any relationship,” Mettaton recited, pointing at the relationship guidebook he’d found in Papyrus’ nightstand the night before. He wasn’t going to let Papyrus live that one down for a long time.

“How dare you use my own book against me,” Papyrus mumbled. “I’m not used to sharing my bed, okay?”

“Mhmm, that’s great. Now get your butt off of that comforter and learn to share.” Mettaton poked his side with one index finger. He could feel Papyrus’ hip bone jut out under the skin. 

“Fine.” Papyrus wriggled the comforter out from under himself and tugged it over Mettaton, who had curled up against his side. He nuzzled Papyrus’ chest and tangled their legs together, putting his cold feet on one of Papyrus’ calves.”You’re an awful person to share a bed with, I hope you realise that.”

“Speak for yourself,” Mettaton mumbled back, feeling his lips move against Papyrus’ chest. He felt Papyrus shift under him, and seconds later Papyrus’ hand was cupping the back of his head, his fingers playing soothingly in Mettaton’s hair. Soon, Mettaton was asleep again, lulled by the sound of Papyrus’ heartbeat and the rise and fall of his breathing. 

When he woke up again, bright light streamed in through the window, and Papyrus had been replaced with a pillow. For an awful moment, Mettaton wondered if it had all been a dream, if he was back in his own room - or worse - back at his parents’ house, but when he opened his eyes he was greeted with all the not yet familiar sights of Papyrus’ bedroom. As his brain came into focus, he realised he could hear the shower running, along with the faint strains of Papyrus singing, so he got up and padded downstairs to start breakfast. 

After donning one of Papyrus’ many aprons - this one said ‘quiche the cook’ - Mettaton dug around in the cabinets until he found all the ingredients for pancakes. Mettaton didn’t consider himself any type of culinary expert, as Papyrus seemed to, but he could make some great pancakes. His dad had taught him way back when he was just a little girl and hadn’t figured out that his parents were awful. Mettaton turned his mind away from that and focused on remembering the recipe. That was much more pleasant than anything involving his parents. 

By the time Papyrus finished his shower and came downstairs, Mettaton had made a sizable pile of pancakes, which he’d wrapped in a kitchen towel to keep warm, and was humming contentedly as he finished up the last of the batter. 

“Oh my, you look - um, nice,” Papyrus stuttered when he came in. 

“Huh?” Mettaton said, confused by the odd compliment, before remembering he was wearing nothing but underwear, a crop top, and an apron. He turned his head and looked over his shoulder at his blushing companion. “Yeah, I didn’t feel like getting dressed yet. Anyways, I made breakfast. Want some pancakes?”

“Yes, please,” Papyrus said, sounding like a little kid talking to someone else’s parent. His eyes kept drifting down to Mettaton’s mostly exposed butt and then snapping back up. Mettaton handed him a plate with a big smile, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. 

“Go on and eat, I’ll be there in a sec,” he said, pushing Papyrus toward the door. He took off his silly borrowed apron and grabbed a plate for himself before heading out to the table after his roommate. He sat down across from Papyrus and dumped maple syrup on his plate. 

“These are good,” Papyrus said after a moment. 

“Thanks, they’re a secret family recipe,” Mettaton replied. “Well, not really secret, it’s a pretty basic combination, but my dad liked to call it that. We used to make them together.”

“Do you miss it?”

“What? No, that was years ago.” Mettaton poked at his pancakes. “My parents kinda started ignoring me except to make pointed remarks about how I’m their daughter, not their son, as soon as I started trying to figure out this whole… mess.”

“What mess?” 

“My gender. It’s a mess. Well - it was. Now it’s just not what they wanted. But this isn’t a fun subject. Let’s change it,” Mettaton tried to keep his voice light. 

“Oh, of course,” Papyrus said immediately. “Well…”

“Well what?”

“I don’t know, I was just thinking, I guess. I’ve never actually been in a relationship before - I mean, unless you count Frisk calling me their boyfriend when they were two - and now, I am, all of the sudden, and we’re already sharing a room.”

“That is a big change.” Mettaton nodded. “We can - I can go back to sleeping in my own room for a while, if you want. Just until we figure out if this will actually even work.”

“Oh, no, I mean - unless you would prefer it,” Papyrus said quickly. “I enjoy cuddling with you, even though you did wake me up quite rudely. It’s just - different, I guess. I’ve never actually liked anyone - you know, romantically - before.”

“Alright,” Mettaton said, before focusing back on eating. Silence stretched out, each boy seemingly content in his own thoughts, until finally, Papyrus broke it.

“So, did they cancel school today?”

“What?” Mettaton was confused. He pulled out his phone and felt his stomach drop. “Oh, crap, I thought it was Sunday. Crap, it’s already past eleven. Crap, crap crap.”

“Would you like me to drive you? We can say there was very bad traffic,” Papyrus was already standing up.

“Eh, I say fuck it,” Mettaton said. “It’s already ridiculously late, and they only have my parents’ numbers, so there’s no way for them to find me. I’ll just make up an excuse tomorrow. Let’s just have a lazy day.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You know, a lazy day. We’ll just watch bad daytime TV and I’ll kiss you a lot and we’ll eat whatever is lying around - like all these leftover pancakes - and not worry about anything for a day.”

“I do have to go read to the children at four -” Papyrus started.

“Alright, then, a lazy most-of-the-day. How’s that sound?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Papyrus smiled, and Mettaton felt like the sun itself was shining for him. “That sounds great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screams of aromantic confusion in the distance* holy shit I don't know what I'd doing what are you alloromantics doing and how do you do it tell me your secrets


	14. Chapter 14

Mettaton pressed a single, light kiss onto Papyrus’ lips before pulling him towards the couch. “Come on, then, we have a whole lot of nothing to do and we’re horribly behind already.”

“I don’t see how we could be behind on nothing,” Papyrus voiced his confusion, but trotted along behind Mettaton and allowed himself to be pushed onto the couch nonetheless.

“I still can’t believe you’ve never done this before,” Mettaton commented as he arranged himself half on the couch, half on top of Papyrus. “Spent a day in your pajamas doing nothing, I mean. It’s so relaxing.”

“I try to keep busy as much as possible. There’s so much I could be doing at any given moment,” Papyrus explained.

“But there’s also so much you could _not_ be doing, at any given moment.” Mettaton turned on the tv. A man in a speedo was talking about a laundry detergent that could also be used to clean floors, and as a shampoo. He flipped through channels until he found something boring enough for a lazy day. An old lady with a positively 17th century amount of curls piled on her head, who was talking about how to make little baskets out of strips of newspaper in a placating voice, as if she were trying to convince someone that this horrible craft was a better pastime than, say, murder, for example.

“Why -?” Papyrus asked, staring curiously at the woman, but Mettaton cut him off with a finger on his lips.

“She’s boring. Lazy days are all about boring, but in a fun way. Like this.” Mettaton scooted up so his chest was resting on Papyrus’ and kissed him again, smiling at Papyrus’ muffled yelp when Mettaton curved his tongue along the seam of his lips. “See? We don’t need interesting shows to have fun.”

“Oh - gosh, I - I didn’t know we were going to do _that_ ,” Papyrus stammered.

“Oh, no, we’re not,” Mettaton assured him, patting his chest reassuringly. “I mean - we could, but - well, it’s a little early, don’t you think?”

“Mhmm.” Papyrus looked relieved.

“I’m just gonna -” Mettaton interspersed his words with little pecks - “kiss - you - silly.”

“I think I can handle that,” Papyrus smiled up at Mettaton, who was combing his fingers through his hair, brushing the rampant curls back from his face. The next time Mettaton brushed his tongue over Papyrus’ lips, he was much more receptive, opening his mouth to let Mettaton deepen the kiss, and even taking a little initiative of his own. His hands brushed over Mettaton’s shoulders, down his back, and eventually came to rest, timidly, at his waist, his thumbs rubbing the bare skin between Mettaton’s short top and his underwear in irregular, shy strokes. Mettaton shivered and fought to keep his hips still.

_Come on, Mettaton, we said we’d take it slow, think unsexy thoughts, you're better than this. What's not sexy? Uh, salad. Yes. Salad is nice and safe. Just greens with dressing on it. Yep. No pelvic thrusting involved. Absolutely -_

“Uh, Mettaton?” Papyrus pulled back a little, looking at Mettaton with what looked like concern. “Are you… okay? You’re kind of - frowning. A lot.” Mettaton realised his brows had drawn together in his concentration.

“Oh, no, darling, I’m just fine,” he said, smiling sheepishly. He took Papyrus’ bottom lip between his own and bit it gently, eliciting a surprised whimper from his partner. He felt Papyrus’ hands reflexively tighten on his hips, and smirked. Papyrus quickly pulled his hands away, blushing.

“I'm sorry!” he said, a little louder than necessary. “I - uh - didn’t mean to do that.”

“Oh, no, no, Paps, it’s okay,” Mettaton reassured him. “But, I’ve been thinking.”

“Hmm?” Papyrus said, somewhere between a sigh and a question. Mettaton leaned down to lightly kiss Papyrus’ jaw, just barely brushing his lips against it. Papyrus’ eyelashes fluttered.

“Okay, not what I was thinking, but - you’re super cute, and I feel like you should know.” Another feather light kiss, this time just above his Adam’s apple, which bobbed adorably when Mettaton’s lips grazed it. Papyrus inhaled sharply. “And - my actual point here - what are we gonna tell people?”

“Oh, gosh, I hadn’t thought about that.” Mettaton felt the movement as Papyrus swallowed. He pushed himself up until he was on his knees next to Papyrus, allowing him to sit up. The television lady had moved on from newspaper to lawn trimmings.

“Me either, honestly,” Mettaton admitted. "I just remembered."

“Sans is going to have my head on a platter,” Papyrus said, running his fingers through his hair. Mettaton had made quite a mess of it, and the curls stuck together damply and at odd angles.

“Why?”

“Because I’m practically a cradle robber!” Papyrus exclaimed, looking distraught.

“Oh, please, it’s only a few years," Mettaton scoffed. "Besides, I’m legally an adult, you’re legally an adult, what’s he gonna do about it?”

“Well, nothing, but - he’ll disapprove, I know it.”

“Mm. I getcha. This probably isn’t what he had in mind when he sent me here, huh.”

“No, I doubt it was,” Papyrus agreed. His lips looked a little swollen. Mettaton couldn’t help but feel pleased about that. He couldn't resist tilting his chin up to give his roommate one more little kiss.

“I mean - Shyren’s gonna ask about you as soon as I show up at school,” Mettaton thought aloud. “I - guess I may as well tell her when she asks. As long as that's okay with you?”

“Mm," Papyrus hummed his assent. "I suppose we can invite Sans, Toriel and Frisk over for dinner and tell them then. I will cook my -”

“That sounds like a lovely idea, but, can I cook?” Mettaton cut him off gently. “I, uh - I have a new lasagna recipe I’ve been wanting to try!”

“I suppose…” Papyrus trailed off. Mettaton felt a little bad, but Papyrus’ cooking was… well, not everyone’s taste. Not _anyone’s_ taste, honestly.

“Good,” Mettaton said with an air of finality. “Now, let’s stop worrying, okay? We only have a few more hours of scheduled laziness and I want to make the most of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this just in: local mettaton is thirstier than previously anticipated, local aromantic still has no idea what he's doing, both scream for hours. more on this story as it develops.


	15. Chapter 15

“Mettaton, are you sure you don’t need any help?” Papyrus asked for what felt like the millionth time. It was a week since Mettaton had broken the news to his school friends (which had gone well except for Frisk signing “gross” at him from across the table) and tonight was the night they’d settled on to tell Toriel and Sans. Papyrus had been hovering around the kitchen door while Mettaton cooked all afternoon, and, while it was convenient when he needed someone to hold the tail ends of the lasagna noodles as they were coming out of the pasta maker, it was - well, inconvenient.

“Paps, darling, for the last time, I promise, I’m quite capable in the kitchen,” Mettaton assured him. “And I’ve been here for nearly three months, I know where things are. Why don’t you go set the table?”

“The table has been set for hours, Metta,” Papyrus said, sounding almost whiny.

“I’m sorry, love, I just work better alone. I get stressed out, I don’t want to snap at you.” Mettaton turned away from his half constructed lasagna and gently pushed Papyrus out of the kitchen.

“I understand. I, too, prefer not to share my kitchen. I just - I just miss you.” Papyrus looked sheepish. Literally, as well as figuratively. His hair had been steadily growing out since Mettaton had moved in, and now the once sleek, short sides were long enough to curl. He looked adorably shaggy.

“First off, that’s stupid, I’m not even fifteen feet away from you, you don’t even have to raise your voice to talk to me. Secondly -” Mettaton moved his hands from Papyrus’ chest to his scarf, which he’d neglected to take off after coming home earlier. Mettaton was almost distracted by how nice his black painted nails looked on the red material. He pulled Papyrus down to his own height by the scarf and kissed him, two little pecks in quick succession. “I’ll be done soon, I promise. I just have to add a few more layers and stick it in the oven, and then I’ll be all yours.”

“Okay.” Papyrus looked sulky. Mettaton felt a little bad, but the guy was awful in the kitchen. Like a bull in a china shop, and with absolutely no sense of seasoning. Mettaton wanted this dinner to make Toriel and Sans feel okay with the idea of them dating, not want to vomit. Besides, he hadn’t been lying - he hated sharing a kitchen - even when the person in question was his boyfriend, and the owner of the kitchen in question.

Mettaton hummed a little as he splashed sauce between layers of cheese and pasta, feeling pleased with himself. He’d only made lasagna once before, and it was with store bought noodles. He’d been wanting to try out the vintage pasta press Papyrus owned as soon as he’d discovered it, months ago. And he hadn’t cooked properly in ages. Usually, Mettaton either ordered take out, ate frozen microwave meals, or choked down whatever Papyrus had cooked, out of pure laziness, but when the opportunity arose, Mettaton enjoyed cooking quite a bit. He sprinkled the last layer of cheese onto the top and speculated his handiwork proudly before sliding it into the oven.

“Oh, Papyrus!” Mettaton practically sang. Papyrus trotted in almost immediately, looking as excited as Mettaton felt. He joined Mettaton in crouching in front of the oven. “Look at it. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It certainly is,” Papyrus told him, and the two of them stayed silent for a moment, peering in at the cooking lasagna. Mettaton smiled happily. He felt so… domestic. His mind wandered into a daydream about his life as Papyrus’ cute little househusband, before he remembered that he hated every part of that job except for the cooking. Cleaning made him sneeze, he was too social to keep a family, and kids hated him. He had tried to make himself likeable to them, but somehow it never worked. There was nothing he could do about it. Well, there’s that idea out the window.

“Metta? Mettaton, earth to Mettaton,” Papyrus’ voice swam through Mettaton’s little failed fantasy.

“Sorry,” Mettaton said, blushing. “Were you saying something? I got distracted.”

“While I agree that cooking is a splendid and fascinating pastime, what could possibly be so amazing about staring at melting cheese?”

“I just spaced out a little, I dunno.”

“I suppose that is understandable. Even I, present and strong minded Papyrus, sometimes find myself lost in my thoughts.” Papyrus admitted, almost posing before blushing and running a hand through his hair. Mettaton wasn’t sure if that was meant to be comforting, or just an explanation, but he smiled anyways. Seeing Papyrus try to keep up his boastful persona when he was around Mettaton was… well, cute. Everything about Papyrus was. Mettaton glanced at the clock above the stove.

“Oh, god, they’re going to be here any minute,” Mettaton said, jumping up and wringing his hands. “What if they hate me?”

“Mettaton, they’ve known you for years,” Papyrus pointed out, standing as well, and putting his hands on Mettaton’s shoulders.

“But what if they hate me anyways?” Mettaton insisted. “Sans could decide not to let me stay here!”

“That would be very surprising, seeing as they’ve liked you a lot in the past.” Papyrus reasoned with him. “Besides, if my brother uninvites you I can just reinvite you. It wouldn’t be a problem. But he likes you. He wouldn’t have suggested you move here in the first place if he didn’t. And Toriel thinks of herself as your second mother.”

“First mother, with the way my actual mom treated me.” Mettaton corrected. “That just makes it weirder. What kind of son dates his own mother’s boyfriend’s brother?”

“That isn’t what I meant and you know it,” Papyrus said crossly. “Look, it is going to go great, alright? Don’t worry.”

The doorbell rang. Both Papyrus and Mettaton jumped. Mettaton shrugged and offered a weak smile.

“Well, kiss for good luck?”

 

* * *

 

“... and then I said to the guy, ‘Look, man, I’m sorry, I just get a little terri- _Toriel_  when people get too close to my girl,” Sans finished with an expectant look. Papyrus slammed his head into the table and emitted a low groan. Toriel was laughing hard enough that no sound was coming out, even though she’d helped tell the story. Frisk and Monty were deeply engaged in their own sign language conversation at the far end of the table, completely ignoring the adults.

 _You kids and your stupid secret language_ , Mettaton thought to himself. This was going horribly! They’d gotten all the way through dinner and neither Papyrus nor Mettaton had found a moment to explain the reason they’d invited everyone here. Sans kept joking that they must have eloped, or killed someone, or something like that, which didn’t help either, and his puns were getting worse and worse as the night wore on. Nothing was going in their favor.

“That was a hilarious story,” Mettaton said in his most charming voice. “Anyways - if everyone is finished - Papyrus, will you help me carry these dishes to the kitchen?”

“Absolutely!” Papyrus shot up. “I am, of course, the master of carrying dishes. I’ll just - take all these - and be out of here!”

“Oh, we can help with the cleaning up, dear -” Toriel started, but Mettaton cut her off.

“Nonono, it’s fine, y-you’re our guests,” he laughed nervously. “Papyrus and I will be fine on our own. A-anybody want coffee?”

Frisk raised their hand. Sans reached over and put it down without even looking at them. Frisk glared at him.

“I’d like tea, if you have any,” Toriel said pleasantly.

“I’ll have what T’s having,” Sans added, winking.

“I heard that pun!” Papyrus yelled from the kitchen. Mettaton heaved a sigh and gathered up the rest of the dishes.

“This is going terribly!” Mettaton half whispered, half shouted at Papyrus when he got to the kitchen.

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Papyrus said in a placating tone, but he didn’t look like he believed it. “Your lasagna was good.”

“I know, but a good meal isn’t all we’re trying to pull off here,” Mettaton reminded him. “We still have to figure out how to tell them.”

“Hey, maybe - maybe we should just wait a little longer. I mean, we don’t know this is going to work out. We could give it another few weeks,” Papyrus suggested hopefully.

“Yeah.” Mettaton was pretty sure it was going to work out, but a few weeks before they had to try this again sounded like heaven. It couldn’t hurt to wait a little longer, right? He pushed himself up to sit on the counter, putting himself almost at Papyrus’ eye level. “That sounds like a good idea. This can just have been a fun dinner party."

“So fun,” Papyrus said sarcastically. “Most fun I’ve had in months.”

“Hey, look on the bright side. We can check ‘hosted an awful dinner party and survived’ off of our Boring Adult Bucket Lists. I, for one, feel very grown up."

“You’re forgetting, I’ve been an adult a bit longer than you have,” Papyrus pointed out.

“Well, have you ever hosted a dinner party before?”

“Well, no -”

“There. It still counts."

“Alright, it was a very big grown up thing for us both,” Papyrus conceded, stepping between Mettaton's knees and wrapping him in a tight hug. Mettaton was tempted to say he knew of a couple of other big grown up things they could do, but he bit his tongue. They were taking things slow. Except for the days spent piled on top of each other on the couch and the sharing a bed and the family dinner parties. Slow. Instead, he pulled back from the hug and kissed Papyrus sweetly. Papyrus returned the gesture, in a rare show of initiative. Mettaton pulled him closer. Just being in Papyrus' arms, he could feel the stress of the evening starting to melt away.

“We should really… start the kettle,” Papyrus said into Mettaton’s lips, making no move to do so.

“Mhmm,” Mettaton agreed, also not doing it.

"Ahem, you two,” Toriel said, startling them out of their little bubble. Papyrus backed away quickly, almost tripping over himself in his haste.

“Um.” Mettaton felt his face heat up under Toriel’s gaze. She didn’t seem upset - in fact, she looked rather embarrassed - but it was still embarrassing. Sans appeared to by trying to keep himself from laughing.

“Is this what you boys wanted to tell us about?” Toriel asked, her voice as smooth and maternal as always. Mettaton nodded mutely. Papyrus, pressed against the wall on the other side of the kitchen, just looked petrified. “I… honestly can’t say I’m too surprised. I suspected this might happen from the moment Sans suggested you stay here. You boys seem… compatible.”

“Compatible is an understatement, T,” Sans pointed out, smirking. Papyrus’ ears turned pink.

“It is a little odd, my child’s schoolmate dating my boyfriend’s brother, but - well, you are both adults, I suppose what happens happens,” Toriel said.

“Uh-huh. But I think I speak for both of us when I say we wish you kids the best,” Sans added. Toriel nodded. “Mettaton, I think you’re a pretty good kid. I’d like to talk to you man to man sometime, but for now - take care of my bro, won’t you?”

“I’m four years older than him, Sans,” Papyrus pointed out, sounding miffed. “I can take care of the both of us.”

Sans gave Mettaton a Look. “Alright, we’ll leave you to your, uh, washing up, then. And don’t forget the tea.”

“Chamomile, if you please. We’ll go keep the children out of trouble for you,” Toriel said, raising her eyebrows in a way that mothers should not.

“Yes ma’am,” Papyrus whispered. He gave Mettaton a wide eyed look.

“Oh my god,” Mettaton mouthed to him as Sans and Toriel left.

“I mean, it went better than it could have,” Papyrus said hopefully.

Thankfully, the rest of the evening went smoothly. Mettaton spent the time nestled under Papyrus’ arm on the couch, answering Toriel’s questions about how school was going and Sans’ about how Papyrus was doing and if Mettaton was taking good care of him, and shooting Frisk dirty looks when they still kept signing gross out of their parents’ line of sight. Papyrus, in turn, embarrassedly insisted to his brother that he could take care of himself, he was twenty two years old - older than Mettaton - it was he who was taking care of Mettaton, not vice versa. It was a little repetitive, but it was better than dinner, anyways.

Still, in the end, both Mettaton and Papyrus were glad it was over. They stood and waved as their family - the only family either of them really had, at this point - drove off, and Mettaton shivered slightly in the night chill.

“I for one think that was at least a moderately successful evening,” Papyrus said when they went back inside.

Mettaton was unable to contain his laughter. Whether it was relied, tiredness, or the sheer ridiculousness of the thought of that evening as successful, he wasn’t sure. He flopped down onto the couch.

“I did say moderately,” Papyrus defended himself. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“I mean, I’ll be embarrassed about Toriel and Sans walking in on us making out instead of doing the dishes for the rest of my life, but, yeah, I guess you’re right,” Mettaton admitted, still laughing a little. He really was exhausted. “It could have been worse.”

“Exactly.” Papyrus sat down next to Mettaton, rubbing his back soothingly when Mettaton crumpled into his lap.

“God, how do real adults do it?” Mettaton said, his cheek squished against Papyrus’ thigh.

“I don’t know. I thought I was a real adult, but now…” Papyrus paused. “I do not have the slightest idea. Being an adult is hard.”

“Yep.” Mettaton twisted his neck to look up at Papyrus. “But hey, at least we don’t have to do it alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaahh guys I'm so sorry I'm a day late I had to stay at work for an extra hour and a half because three people were sick. Also the dialog felt forced af so I had to write it twice egh  
> anyways hope you nerds like it  
> (EDIT) I forgot to edit this to say it's complete I mean I have an epilogue coming along but it's basically done after that there is no more. but I am starting a fake dating AU, and I might make a sequel or something but, yeah it's done yall!


	16. Chapter 16

When Mettaton walked off of the stage at graduation, he felt, as most people do, a mixture of sadness and excitement. The outdoor auditorium was almost completely full of strangers - Mettaton’s parents had declined the invitation, and honestly he wasn’t too hung up about it - but he knew Toriel, Sans, Papyrus, and Frisk were all there somewhere. He scanned the crowd, looking for them, but he was without luck. They must be at the back somewhere. Mettaton was so busy looking for his new family that he walked straight into someone. He was about to apologise when the person wrapped their arms around him in a bear hug, and Papyrus’ familiar smell filled his lungs. 

“Congratulations!” Papyrus exclaimed, lifting Mettaton off the ground. Mettaton hid his face in Papyrus’ shoulder when he noticed the rest of the family behind him. He didn’t want them to see him like this, he was a teary mess! Papyrus set him gently back on the ground and ruffled his hair. “We’re all really proud of you.” 

“Oh yeah?” Mettaton couldn’t think of anything else to say. A second later he found himself crushed to Toriel’s chest though, and thankfully he didn’t have to. 

“Of course we’re proud, child, look at you,” Toriel patted Mettaton’s back soothingly.

“Guess I can’t really call you kiddo anymore, huh?” Sans added, moving behind Toriel so Mettaton could see him. Mettaton giggled through his tears.

“Thank you, everyone, you’re the best family I could ask for,” Mettaton said sincerely. “But can I take a little walk with Papyrus? I want to talk some things over.”

There was a general consensus of ‘yes’ from Toriel, Sans, and Frisk, and Mettaton wrapped himself around Papyrus’ arm and hurried them away. 

“Is everything alright, Metta?” Papyrus asked, as soon as they were out of earshot. 

“Oh, yeah, everything’s great,” Mettaton reassured him, looking up at him sincerely. He found a bench and sat down, pulling Papyrus with him before sighing contentedly. “Everything is… perfect, really. Way better than I could ever have hoped for.”

“Yeah?”

Mettaton nodded. “And you know, I think I’m going to join an acting troupe or something. I used to be so into it. Then high school came with dysphoria and everything, and I kind of stopped, because I didn’t want to have to play girls. But you know what? I don’t care anymore. It’s something I like doing - I know that - so I’m going to do it. No one can stop me.”

“That is a good way of looking at it,” Papyrus agreed. “I didn’t know you liked acting. I suppose I should have guessed, given how dramatic you are.”

“I am not!” Mettaton’s incredulous tone was only partially pretend. “How dare you make such an accusation!” 

“Oh, I dare,” Papyrus said, taking on an equally silly voice. Mettaton tried to look serious and offended, but a giggle bubbled out of his mouth. 

“Maybe I’ll create myself a huge stage persona and call everyone darling and throw drinks at people who disagree with me,” Mettaton fantasized aloud, imagining himself as a dashing but awful to work with star. He shook his head to clear it. “But, hey, wanna know a secret? I just brought you over here ‘cause wanted to kiss you, and I felt weird about it with them right there.”

“Oh?” 

Mettaton nodded, and drew their faces together. Their lips met, and it was as gentle and sweet as it always was with Papyrus, but Mettaton could feel the love coursing between them, in the palm of Papyrus’ hand, pressed against his lower back, in the way their bodies seemed to fit each other, even when the were only sharing a kiss in a school garden. It was never explicitly spoken - at least not yet, anyways, but Mettaton could feel it, and Papyrus could feel it, and in the end, that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is the actual end. Like I said before, I might do a sequel eventually, I really really like what I've developed here and I'm not quite ready to let it go yet, but there's not much more I can do with this particular plot. So I'm taking a little break from it. If I do make a sequel, I'll add something here to say there's a sequel (or does AO3 do that automatically when you say its part of a series? I don't know. I don't know how this fricking site works I'm an old grandpa what's a computer) 
> 
> ANYWAYS. If any of you like me enough to want to read more stuff by me in the meantime, I started another thing! It's called "I'm not your boyfriend, I just play him on TV" and it's a fake dating au, and it's here, but I don't know how to link things so you're just gonna have to find it yourselves. If anyone wants to tell me how to link things I would not complain. Well, this has been fun, and I really hope to see you guys over there! Thanks for all the nice comments, reading them really brightened up my day every single time.


End file.
